


Dragon's Hide

by featherflairs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Beefy Harry, Bickering, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Clothes Ripping, Cock Warming, Domestic Fluff, Draco has a Job, Frottage, Harry's not cool with fangirls touching him, Hermione fixes everyones problems, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marriage humour, Muggle Technology, Porn Watching, Quidditch Accident, References to Depression, Scars, THERES FLUFF I SWEAR, Tattoos, Theres lots of scars in this fic woops, Thoughts of suicide mention, angsty, blood/broken bones, hospital stay, kinky boys, set in the 2000s with modern technology, temporary injury, they get raunchy at work thats all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14104605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherflairs/pseuds/featherflairs
Summary: “Finally got me on my knees, eh Potter?” Draco smirked up at him, scandalously close to flirting as he placed Potter’s foot on the scale.“Could you please carry on?” Harry coughed, awkward when faced with his brashness.Draco gave a dry smile, writing down his measurements and reaching for Potter's other foot.“You should consider yourself lucky. I’m usually quite picky with who I service.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the love in the world to Recalibrates for kicking my ass into posting my work and being my irl sempai. Go check out her work all of its fantastic (´ ▽ ` )ﾉ
> 
> Edit: I now have a wonderful beta, roomnumber156, who's helping me polish up this beast! Nothing serious has been changed, merely a fixing up of grammar and other boring stuff~

An aching, old silence had worked its way into the heart of Hogsmeade in the months following The Battle of Hogwarts.

It was a welcomed escape, one that gave Draco the time and safety he needed after the war. He had needed to get out of the manor after his family’s trial. Hogsmeade was the only place he could think of where he felt safe enough to live. Stumbling upon an apprenticeship at a Quidditch footwear boutique had been pure luck. 

It had all happened rather quickly and terrifyingly, but Draco now found he loved the smell and atmosphere of the tiny shop. Not only was he able to create something good and beautiful for once, he could do so while both contributing to society and staying out of the public eye. It was peaceful and safe. Mostly. 

When someone showed up looking for high quality footwear and happened to recognise him, they really only treated him like shit about forty percent of the time. Which, honestly, he couldn’t even complain about because realistically, this was the best outcome he could have ever hoped for. Simply living and working alone in Hogsmeade felt like a godsend if he considered how badly everything could have turned out for him.

So, he spent his days alone, building Quidditch boots in a small work room and occasionally serving clients when they wandered in off the street. Customers were infrequent and he was the only one working more often than not, which was much to his inclination. He enjoyed crafting and learning his trade far more than he enjoyed dealing with people. It seemed most people felt the same way about him.

“Hermione, can you see any dragonhide?”

Draco stopped his work. He held a wicked three-inch sewing needle in one hand while the other was saturated in leather polish, rubbing tiny circles of oil onto the edges of the dragon leather.

“I think everything in this store is dragonhide, Harry.”

Draco looked up from the pair of boots he was working on, searching around for a washcloth once he realized he had customers. He cautiously peeked his head around the doorway of his workroom as he scrubbed at his hands, anxiety settling over him as he recognised the startlingly familiar voices of Granger and Potter.

He really shouldn't have been so surprised; it was bound to happen eventually. Draco sighed heavily, pushing his glasses up into his hair with a semi-clean wrist and untying his leather apron.

“Hello? We could use some help?”

Yes, that was definitely Granger. He'd know that voice anywhere.

Once he managed to collect himself, Draco stepped around the corner to find the bushy-haired Gryffindor waiting for him at the counter. _His_ counter. His beautiful redwood counter.

A quick series of emotions ran over her face as recognition dawned on her, eventually settling into a politely composed expression.

“Malfoy, what are you doing here? Is Madam Sterling in?” she asked civilly, though it sounded quite strained. She didn't look like she'd changed at all in the last six months. He hadn’t seen her since the battle- not even at his parents’ trials.  


Draco raised an eyebrow at her question, anxiously scrubbing his fingers with the ruddy wash cloth.

“My apologies, you appear to be stuck with me for your shopping needs. Lisette is not in today.”

He leaned to the side to peer behind her, knowing she wasn’t alone. Granger didn't play Quidditch and it sounded like someone was trying to pull down his boot displays.

He could see Potter kneeling around the shelving units, trying to pick up the boots he'd knocked over.

“Try not to hurt yourself, Potter. It's only footwear.”

Potter rolled his eyes at Malfoy’s voice, not dignifying him with a response, and wandered further into the display units until he was out of Draco's line of sight.

Draco stared at where Potter had been, mildly curious at how, despite Granger’s consistency in appearance, the man barely looked like Draco remembered him to. If he hadn't heard Granger address him by name, Draco probably wouldn't have recognised him. The underfed and lackluster image Potter had during their Hogwarts years was long gone. Draco would even dare to use the word _beefy_ to describe him.

The last time he had seen Harry Potter was during the Death Eater trials, where he had appeared for the Malfoy family’s hearing, spoke his defence for Narcissa and Draco, then promptly walked out. That day, he’d still been the scrawny, big-eyed boy who fought during the war. Something had changed during the past six months. He now looked like one of those herculean models that pose in Quidditch magazines, the ones who had clearly never touched a Quaffle but made the gear look spectacular just from its sheer proximity to the model.

Draco knew that Potter had taken advantage of the opportunity given to students whose education had been interrupted by the war and returned to Hogwarts for an ‘eighth-year’. However, only a select few students had chosen to return. Most had chosen to live without the final year and to try to move on with their lives, as had Draco. Their N.E.W.T.s weren’t a priority anymore after living through a war.

The results of the Death Eater trials and his family’s hearing were eight years of house arrest for his mother, and five years of wandless probation for Draco. He had gotten off light compared to his father, who was sent straight to Azkaban with no room for argument.

So, he hadn’t really had much choice in the matter, even if he had wanted to return for his final year. Class would have been a tad difficult without a wand. Instead, over the summer, he’d finished his N.E.W.T.s via owl with an affiliate from France, thanks to his boss’s connections.

Draco had probably been saved from a harsher punishment due to Potter’s involvement in their trial. But for now, he’d been free to acquire any kind of job he could get, of which the options were limited, seeing as the Wizarding community in Britain wanted nothing to do with him.

Potter had returned to Hogwarts, of course, and Granger had followed. He briefly remembered seeing the Weasel’s acceptance into Auror training in _The Prophet_ one morning this summer. He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he did find it odd that Potter hadn’t followed his best friend.

As modest as it was, Draco liked his apprenticeship. It was peaceful and not nearly as mind-numbing as he had expected it would be. He even got to interact with some of the Wizarding world’s best (and legal) creature hunters when the shop ordered specialised materials for their products. The store’s owner, Lisette Sterling, was an immigrant from the continent. She came over from France after the war and set up shop in Hogsmeade because she had realised there was a severe lack of high-quality Quidditch footwear. Most people had just gone to Quality Quidditch Supplies, but after seeing some of Madam Sterling’s work, word of mouth quickly spread. She was even commissioned to do pieces for some of the actual team members of professional Quidditch teams. Because she wasn’t around for the war and knew nothing about the intimate politics of how everything had occurred, Madam Sterling hired him on the spot as an apprentice. Though now that he thought about it, that was probably because Malfoy had conducted his interview in nearly flawless French. But nevertheless, she hadn’t indicated any interest or care in what his family was forced into the previous year, and Draco was not about to question her judgement. She had a shop to run and he was grateful for the job.

“We are looking for pleated, sheepskin-lined, calf-high Quidditch boots. Preferably made of dragonhide. Please,” Granger quoted in an offensively civil tone, like she was expecting Draco to act difficult right off the bat.

Draco just gave her a withering look, going around the counter and walking past her. He stopped in the area Potter had previously occupied by the front of the store, scanning over the boot display on the wall in front of him. He picked a display boot from the the wall, holding it out to Granger. He doubted the boot was for her, but she seemed to know what they were looking for.

“These are the ones listed on the equipment sheet you were given,” he drawled, not particularly enthusiastic.  


Granger looking at it critically, frowning as she plucked it from his outstretched hand.

Everyone bought that specific style because it was the example boot on their the list that Hogwarts gave out. It was probably their top-selling boot, but far from the best. Draco would even dare say it was in poor choice. There were higher quality boots behind him on the wall, and somewhere deep inside he hoped Granger would notice how rubbish the one in her hand was.

As if reading his thoughts exactly, she looked up to stare at the wall behind him, searching for something else.

“Are there any others that aren’t as…”

“Complete shite? Yes.”

Pleased with Granger’s request, Draco turned and pulled two more boots off the wall.

“That boot in your hand was specifically designed by the British and Irish Quidditch League for mass release to the public. We are required to carry and supply those boots by BIQL regulation, so they’re not made in shop like the rest of our work.” He walked over to one of the seating benches, setting one boot down on it while untying the laces of the other. “Unfortunately, they were designed by the Cannons’ coach so the quality is utter rubbish.”

“Hey!” Potter cried, emerging from his hiding spot among the racks. He looked like he was ready to pick a fight but his attention quickly shifted to the boot Malfoy held out to him. Potter moved closer to get a look at the shoe, quickly forgetting about the slander about his favorite team.

Draco just rolled his eyes, unconcerned with Potter's attitude, and handed the boot to Granger.  


“It’s an accurate statement by quality standards. Those boots on the list are shite. If you give a damn about Quidditch, I’d choose these instead,” he carried on, observing Granger as she looked over the new pair he’d handed her. She seemed impressed with these, rather than weary like the first pair.

“Harry, maybe they aren’t doing so well in the Cup because of their equipment?” she lightly suggested, pulling the tongue of the boot back to peer inside. Potter frowned in offense.

“Not now, Hermione. What’re those made of, Malfoy?” Potter asked Draco, who was leaning back on his heels.  


“Those are made from a Hebridean Black, with solid oak heels and thestral hair laces. Inside is pleated ram’s wool and charmed to stay dry for when it downpours. Engraved into the sole is your choice of protection runes,” he listed off, waving a hand noncommittally. “I own a pair myself.”

Potter didn’t seem overly pleased knowing Draco owned a pair, but he understood what it meant. Draco was also a seeker. He was probably the best person for an honest opinion on Quidditch boots.

“And the leather is actually hunted from dragons?” Potter added warily.

That was a question they got a lot. People always wanted dragonhide boots, but never wanted to acknowledge where the leather came from.

“They’re ethically harvested. All our hawkers possess permits for each locale they hunt in. Our shop also is registered with the proper permits for Possession for Crafting and for Crafting with Endangered Creature Byproduct. We do it by the book, not on the black market. The documents are on the wall near the front if you want to cause a fuss over magical creature rights. The only dragons we tag are the ones who cause detrimental habitat destruction or take part in casual murder,” Draco drawled back, as he was too familiar with this question.

Granger looked to Potter for feedback, far more pleased with Draco's suggested pair than the one on their equipment list.

Draco turned and put the cheaper boot back on the wall, silently taking a step back while the Gryffindors spoke in hushed tones. It was best to give clients space when considering expensive purchases. Lisette had ground that into him his first week on the job.

He wandered back to the counter, grabbing his washcloth and scrubbing at his fingernails while they came to a decision.  


Draco was hyper aware of his polite behavior with Granger and Potter. He had no intention of picking a fight in this shop. Lisette now trusted him enough to care for her shop when she was away; her reputation was at stake.

After surviving the war, he had concluded that some things were simply not worth the energy. He had far more important shite to deal with, like making rent and being able to eat. The Manor's funds had been taken away and his mother barely had enough of a nest egg to live off of, meaning Draco was officially on his own as an adult with a criminal record and no wand.

Draco listened to their bickering, noting how Potter was causing a fuss over the equipment list. But now that he was a safe distance away, Draco allowed himself to get a real eyeful of Potter.

It was simply astonishing, how much Potter filled out over the summer. Who knew that staying holed up in a house for months on end could make someone that fit? _The Prophet_ had gone mad, screaming about how Potter had become recluse because he never ventured into public after the war. Perhaps it was because he was busy turning himself into a fucking Adonis.

Draco hadn’t been surprised about hermit behavior, though. If he had had the choice, Draco would have done the same. But somehow, Potter didn’t look as thin and lanky as Draco did. It was entirely disheartening.

The Chosen One now had thick, brawny arms and an impressive shoulder to hip ratio that made Draco salivate, unfortunately, most of which was hidden by his too-tight-yet-too-bulky school robes. Draco could tell the Gryffindor was corded with muscle and it wasn’t fair.

His physique wasn’t the only thing that had changed, either. Potter’s hair had been tamed and was cut smartly to frame his face, so now it was an artfully tousled mess that somehow suited him perfectly. His new glasses had thick, black frames in contrast to the ugly, circular wire ones he used to wear in school. All of it was too modern and put together for Draco. Potter was simply too attractive to deal with now.

The Weaslette was probably behind it, if Draco were to guess. Why not give your boyfriend a makeover after coming back from a war? There was a sick kind of humour there.

Draco smiled wryly to himself, staring down at his leather polish stained nails in comparison to Potter’s pristine image. He probably needed a makeover himself but he wouldn’t be able to afford it anytime soon. Draco had no time or energy, even if he did somehow manage to find the money for it somewhere. 

The last time he tried to fix his own appearance, he’d just scarred his dark mark even deeper into his arm than it already was. Eventually, he was planning to get a muggle tattoo to cover it, but until he could save up enough money, he was forced to just ignore the mark. If clients caused a fuss over it, that was their problem, not his.

Draco didn’t know why he even bothered to scrub the leather polish off his hands, it had been months since he was truly clean of it. But he still picked at his fingernails, pondering Potter in the boots they had chosen and knowing they would only add to his new god-like image.

“Can’t say I’d ever imagined seeing Draco Malfoy getting his hands dirty.”

Draco drew his gaze upwards to see Potter staring down at his hands in polite curiosity.

“Comes with the territory.” Draco stood up from slouching against the counter, folding his arms and looking Potter in the eye. “Well? What’ll you have?”

The idiot stared right back and after an awkward few moments of silence, it became oddly intense. It was sort of concerning, the awkward yet keen way Potter stared at him after the question. Draco arched an eyebrow at their bizarre interaction.

“Are you going to buy the boots or just stare at me?” Draco asked, trying to pull some sort of response from him.  


Potter just seemed disappointed in his questioning, apparently expecting more from their interaction.

“It’s bloody weird talking to you with no insults being thrown about.”  


Draco rolled his eyes, shoving his washrag into his back pocket.

“Sorry, Potter, I’m trying to run a business here. If you aren’t going to buy anything from me you can get the hell out of my shop and stop wasting my fucking time. I have other shit to do,” he growled, his civil composure cracking.  


The animosity appeared to have a calming effect on Potter instead, who began to grin at Draco’s hostility. He cockily leaned over the counter, closer to Draco, and shed his awkwardness.

“Yeah, these boots you showed us.” He dropped the boot in front of him and smirked charmingly up at Draco, shamelessly giving him a once over from his side of the counter. “Cheers.”

Draco stared blankly in response, not expecting Potter's reaction to his hostility. It was bizarre, and Potter’s confidence was rudely attractive. Not only had he never seen Potter so self-assured and flirty before, but he’d definitely never thought the git would act that way towards Draco. It stirred up something heated deep inside him. How dare Potter.  


Malfoy cautiously reached for the boot while watching Potter, pointedly not showing any kind of reaction to the boldness. His hormones were getting the better of him.

“Granger, could you sort Potter? There seems to be something wrong with his mouth.”  


He stepped away from the counter to collect his tools from the back room, looking for a reprieve from Potter’s oddly intense gaze.

“It’s called smiling, Malfoy. You could try it occasionally,” Potter called from the front of the shop, Draco frowning to himself as he searched for his measuring tools.

He didn’t like this hunky and self-assured Potter. Or maybe he did, just a bit too much to be comfortable.  


Draco knew how to maneuver difficult social situations with a cool and civil façade, he’d done it hundreds of times in the past year. This was far more burdensome. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tried flirting with anyone, let alone someone who had been interested in him. Not that Potter was interested in him, obviously. He would just have to deal with the trauma of being attracted to Potter another time.

“I know what smiling is, Potter. I only grace those who grant me basic decency, like Granger, with it.”  


There was a moment of silence, but then he heard Granger try to muffle a giggle.

Draco smiled thinly. But he couldn’t lie to himself and say he didn’t miss the banter. It was far more familiar territory than the odd civility and politeness that was overshadowing this whole escapade. Even if it was just a cushier version of their former bickering.

He returned to the counter and slid his glasses back down onto his nose, bearing a metal scale in one hand and measuring tapes around his neck.

“If you could please follow me. I need to take some measurements for the boots,” he stated diplomatically. Both Potter and Granger gave him a confused look.

“Why don’t you just use magic? Might be quicker,” Granger asked curiously.

Draco’s expression shuttered briefly. “They took my wand, Granger.”

She bit her lip, clearly embarrassed at the mishap, and nudged Harry to follow him.

“Sorry, Malfoy. I forgot,” she whispered. Draco chose not to respond and turned towards his workroom instead. No point in dwelling on it, Draco supposed

Granger chose to stay behind, figuring they wouldn’t need her for this part of the transaction. Potter, meanwhile, moved around the counter and followed Draco into the back room.

Some witches and wizards were oddly uptight about exposing their bare feet to strangers, and that was the only reason they had to do boot measurements in the back room. It had never made any sense to Draco, but he followed Lisette’s example. He’d heard enough horror stories about cranky old witches to know not to question it.

Potter dropped onto the blue velvet chair by the door reserved for clients, curiously staring around the room in awe.  


The shop’s workroom was overrun with hanging bolts of fabric, boxes of expensive dragon leather, spools of twine, carving and sewing tools, and more drawers than anyone could count. Miscellaneous items took up any and all free space available in the room, making it very cramped. But the room was drenched in the smell of leather polish and woodworking and Draco loved it. It was his solace from the stares and hatred he got whenever he had to leave it. He felt out of place having Potter in his sanctuary.

Draco pulled out a request form from a drawer under the bench and grabbed a small, brown drafting quill. He knelt on the floor before Potter, scribbling in some details on the parchment before organizing his tools beside him.

“If you could remove your shoes, please.”

“Er, are you sure? It might not be the most... hygienic,” Potter muttered, apparently uncomfortable with exposing his feet to Malfoy.

Draco rolled his eyes again, grabbing the grubby laces of Potter’s trainers and not bothering to wait.

“I’ve dealt with far worse, Potter, they can’t possibly be as bad as some of the monstrosities I’ve seen.”

Draco shoved the old, ratty trainers to the side once they came off. He chose to leave Potter’s socks untouched, and annoyingly, he barely noticed any offending smell at all. After living in a boys’ dormitory, surviving a mansion full of decay and death, and working with footwear for a living, Draco had learned very quickly to prepare for the worst. Apparently, that wouldn’t be necessary with Potter.

He looked up after moving his parchment and quill, eyes rapidly flitting over the obscene tightness of Potter’s trousers. The Gryffindor sat with his legs spread wide, probably due to poor posture, but it was inadvertently causing his trousers to strain tightly against the new musculature of his thighs. It was just vulgar how tight they were. Unfortunately, his uniform shirt was a tad too long, and barred Draco from getting any sort of glimpse of what could be occurring beneath it. Draco had a feeling that Potter had forgotten to get new robes before school began.

He reached for the sizing scale, but paused when he noticed his position.

“Finally got me on my knees, eh Potter?” He smirked up at him, well aware that he was getting scandalously close to flirting as he took hold of Potter’s ankle and placed his foot on the scale.

Potter flushed a deep red and pushed himself far back into the chair before closing his legs, which made his trousers look pretty uncomfortable. He waved at the tools in Draco’s hands.

“Could you please carry on?” he coughed, awkward when faced with Draco’s brashness. Odd how the tables had turned.  


Draco gave a dry smile, reaching for Potter's left foot.

“You should count yourself lucky. I’m usually rather picky with who I service,” he prattled on cheekily; the sight of a flustered Potter was only encouraging him.

But the Gryffindor just looked astounded, incapable of handling Draco teasing him so forwardly.

“Is this how you make all your sales pitches?” he squeaked.

Draco grinned as he moved the scale to Potter’s other foot, easily carrying on with his work.

“Might as well, I work on commission.”

He could hear Granger attempting to stop herself from laughing through the cracked doorway.

Draco noted the measurements on his parchment as Potter remained speechless above him. He had found a miniscule difference in Potter’s feet. It wasn’t uncommon for people to require different sized footwear.

“So, how did you come to work in a shoe store?” Potter asked quietly, awkwardly attempting to change the subject. He was wringing his hands in his robes and avoiding Draco’s eyes.

Draco scribbled yet more information on his order form, vaguely disappointed. He’d actually been enjoying his mock flirting attempts.

“Quidditch supplies, Potter. Not a glorified shoe store.”

“Right. Sorry. How’d you come about that, then?”

Draco shrugged, placing the shoe scale away in a bin and pulling the tape measure from his neck.

“No one else would hire me and Lisette liked that I can speak French,” he muttered honestly, wrapping the tape around Potter’s ankle. The man’s leg twitched at the unfamiliar touch, making Draco smile a bit. 

“Oh. That’s unfortunate,” Potter mumbled, trying to be sympathetic. He wasn’t succeeding, but Draco appreciated the attempt.

“Could be worse.” Draco looked up at him, shrugging in somber camaraderie. “If you hadn’t shown up at my hearing, I’d be in Azkaban with my father.”

Potter stared at him in dismayed silence, knowing it was the truth. Draco looked down at Potter’s feet in humiliation, fingers twisting around the drafting quill.

“Thank you, for that.”

“Course, Malfoy. It’s alright,” Potter muttered back kindly, no longer embarrassed. It was an olive branch if Draco’d ever heard one.

He leaned in to focus on his work, the remnants of shame clinging to his crouched form.

Potter watched Malfoy carry on with his work. A heavy silence settled over the two of them, with only the sound of Draco’s quill scratching on parchment filling the air.

When Draco had finished his measurements, he sat back on his feet and double-checked his sheet for any miscalculations.

“Right, do you care for any of these numbers?” He waved the paper in front of Potter, who shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Not really.”

“Figured as much.” Draco stood.

He smirked to himself when he saw the offended look on Potter’s face, moving back to the workbench and scribbling his signature on the parchment, before starting on the rest of the forms. 

“Granger,” he called over his shoulder absently, removing his silver rimmed glasses and placing them on the workbench as he turned to see her come around the corner. Draco handed her the client’s copy of the paperwork, folding his arms and leaning on the workbench while she looked over them.

“These are for Potter’s record keeping, the deposit needs to be paid up front but the rest can be settled once the boots are completed. There will be a fitting for satisfaction and then they are yours for the taking.” He glanced lazily to Potter, who was trying to peer up at the papers in Granger’s hands from the velvet chair.

She scanned over them critically before nodding and handing them to Potter.

“That’s acceptable. And they’ll be like the ones out front?” She asked, and Draco tilted his head from side to side before responding.

“Somewhat, all leather is unique, obviously. And there is Potter’s monstrous feet to take into consideration.”

“You said they weren’t that bad,” Potter complained in betrayal, staring up at Draco with big eyes. Due to Potter’s musculature, it was almost comical that he could seem that pathetically sad while also being so robust.

Draco rolled his eyes. “If you wore trainers worth more than three Sickles, I would change my mind. Quality reflects investment. Once you wear my boots you’ll understand,” Draco lectured, and Granger cringed in sympathy.

“He’s right, Harry. They are quite atrocious.” She gestured to the offending trainers before continuing, “I don’t know why you haven’t gotten new ones after all that shopping you did.”

Potter huffed defensively as he pulled them back onto his feet, waving both his hands at himself.

“Compared to everything else, my shoes still fit. I didn’t see why I had to get new ones.”

Draco played with his measuring tape silently, noting Potter’s phrasing. So, he had had to get a new look because nothing fit him anymore. It was not surprising, he looked like a brick house.

“And why does nothing fit any longer?” he asked in vague curiosity, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to pry details without appearing interested.

Granger gave him a dry look while Potter glared at him from the chair. His hands flexed on his knees, his robes straining against his shoulders as he leaned forward to stand.

“Boots will be ready.. er, when, do you think?” Potter stood in finality, deeming Draco's question not worthy of a response. Draco dropped his tape measure back onto the table, mildly disappointed.

“Two weeks, approximately. I’ll send an owl when they’re ready to be fitted.” Draco motioned for them to clear out, shooing them from his workroom.

As they moved to the front of the shop, Draco followed behind Potter through the small doorway. He had to close his eyes for a moment when he caught the scent of pine and sandalwood, not expecting the Gryffindor to actually have a grasp on cologne.

He quickly scooted behind the counter when there was an opening, getting away from Potter and his smells as quickly as he could. He ducked down to grab a quill and the remainder of the order forms from under the counter, passing them to Potter to fill out. Draco folded his arms and watched the Gryffindor, whose eyes were flickering over the broadness of his shoulders.

“Is there any way they might be done sooner than two weeks?” Granger asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend Malfoy if at all possible. Draco scoffed at the unrealistic time frame.

“No. Next time maybe don’t do your shopping for supplies so close to open season,” he answered, taking one of the sheets from Potter as he passed it over.

She pursed her lips, looking back to Potter.

“We tried. The crowds made it too difficult.It’s hard to just run to the shops these days.” She had a frustrated look on; one Draco was intimately familiar with.

He nodded back understandingly, running a hand through his hair as he thought of the truth behind it. If he wanted to go to Diagon Alley, he had to wear a glamour, and since he had no wand, that meant he never went to Diagon Alley. He was confined to Muggle London if he needed anything out of the ordinary.

Potter stood and handed the last of the papers over, reaching for his bag of Galleons that Granger was carrying for him. Draco processed the payment quickly, subtly trying to check Potter out whenever he had the opportunity. He closed the safe under the counter with a heavy clank, wiping his hands on his jeans, before giving the two an appraising look.

“We’ll owl as soon as they are complete. We here at Sterling Brogan thank you for your patronage and look forward to seeing you again,” he chanted in a monotonous tone, remaining professional for the end of the proceedings.

Granger and Potter stared back at the change of tone, then nodded and gave awkward smiles before turning and walking away.

Draco watched them go, breathing freely for the first time in who knew how long, and suddenly felt quite small behind his wooden counter. He was in the process of tying his apron back on when Potter called from the door.

“Are you gonna be the one to make them?” He was holding the door open, his robes pulled taught across his outstretched arm.

Draco nodded, shoving his hands into the apron’s front pockets anxiously.

“Only the best for the Chosen One.”

It was intended to be sarcastic, but Potter only smirked in response before walking out of the shop.

Draco peered at the door, not quite sure what to make of it all. Potter was awkward, but somehow still confident. He wanted Draco to be rude and clearly approved of his acidic tone. He also had gotten atrociously attractive over the summer, while Draco was cemented in a tiny boot shop in Hogsmeade. Draco didn’t know what to make of the unfairness of it all.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they were walking back from Hogsmeade, both Harry and Hermione’s arms were laden with shopping bags.

After the a year of running from a madman, Harry had lost all his Quidditch equipment and some significant parts of his school uniform. It wasn’t surprising. And, he’d been looking forward to getting new gear anyway, especially since none of his clothes fit him anymore.

After the funerals had finished and the Death Eater trials were done, he’d drifted through Grimmauld place like a ghost. Since then, Harry had felt a deep kind of emptiness and misery he never knew existed before now. His life had revolved around fear and running and coping for so long.

But even after all the horrors had ended, it wasn’t relief that had taken their place. It was guilt.

Hermione and Ron had left for Australia to seek out her parents.

Ginny hadn’t bothered seeing him again since she had tried to find comfort in him after Fred’s funeral. It hadn’t gone spectacularly well:  


Harry had shied away from her touch and hadn’t known what to do when she had started sobbing next to him on the couch. They figured out pretty quickly that neither of them would be ready to try to continue their relationship any time soon.

The Weasleys had receded into mourning; the broken circle of their family pulling tight around each other in grief. Molly had attempted to include him in it, but unfortunately, he’d slipped through the cracks.

The end result was a hideous, dark spell of loneliness and despair.

After three weeks, Hermione and Ron had returned the UK. Once seeing his shame, they’d swiftly put a stop to it. Hermione was the biggest driving force behind the change.

She had given an intense lecture about how years of misery and fear had already taken over their lives and how now it was time to finally move on from it. She'd had a point.

She called in muggle contractors (and even a decorator) to fix up the house. After some quick disillusioning and hiding charms, the house was temporarily muggle enough to be suitable for the work to be done on it. Harry had just watched from the sidelines once they began, giving his input each time Hermione and the decorator asked for it.

The ending result was quite brilliant though.

All the paintings had been moved into the far depths of the house or, if they were polite enough to Harry, had their frames repainted to fit in with the new décor. Select pieces of furniture were reupholstered and the rest given away to charity. His creaky floral couch was replaced with a plush leather beast he’d immediately fallen in love with. Hermione and the decorator had described the new look as rustic modern chic. There were a lot of driftwood and copper accents. Harry couldn’t care less what it was called, so long as it ended his compulsion to haunt the house like one of the Hogwarts ghosts would.

It was also nice how his kitchen wasn’t terrifying to enter anymore. Even Kreacher had been pleased with the upgrade to his hovel in the kitchen cupboard.

Despite all that, the best thing to come from Hermione up-hauling his life was probably the flyer to the muggle gym down the road that she’d thrown at him after sorting through his endless pile of mail. Harry hadn’t been quite sure what to do with it, but after one morning of very little sleep and even less to do, he had dropped by the place and discovered that she might just have been onto something.  


Not only was everyone in the building fifteen times more attractive than himself, but they all minded their own business, and no one recognized him.

The first time he had gone in, a tall, blond man named Stevie, whose ridiculous shoulders filled out his employee uniform very nicely, came up and introduced himself. That was how he had met his personal trainer. Nearly every day until school started again, Harry had gone back. It gave him purpose, it gave him a new friend, and most importantly, it made him so exhausted by the end of the day that he slept straight through the night.

One perk he hadn’t anticipated about the gym, however, was seeing his body change. After being scrawny and somewhat physically pathetic all his life, Harry rather enjoyed getting stronger. It was like a symbolic “Fuck you!” to Dudley and Voldemort. He felt like he was finally taking his body back after having to share it with a psychopath for so long. It was the best kind of therapy he could have asked for.  


The downside to this, however, what that none of his clothes fit him anymore.

One morning getting dressed, he had embarrassingly noticed that his jeans no longer fit over his ass. It’d never occurred to him that such a simple squats routine could do so much.

He’d had to go into muggle London that day, where he found a nice, older lady at a fancy clothing store who helped him sort out his wardrobe. Hermione had literally cheered at his new apparel, saying that it was about time he’d done something nice for himself.

He had known he needed to get new robes and Quidditch gear before school started since nothing fit him anymore, but the crowds were suffocating, and when someone recognized him, it was a total nightmare. He and Hermione had guessed that,after the first week back, they would be able to pop down to Hogsmeade and grab new clothes, but still it hadn't been easy.

Being fitted for new Quidditch equipment had gotten him far too many comments from the witch taking his measurements. He was forced to smile awkwardly as a woman probably fifteen years his senior had fawned and touched him all over. It wasn’t directly inappropriate- anyone would have said she was just being polite. But Harry didn’t appreciate anything about the experience and he still felt uncomfortable, even now, when he thought back on it.

But of course, nothing was ever easy for him, and so if it wasn’t his name and scar they were after, his new appearance gave people an excuse to approach him.

All he’d ever really wanted was to be left alone. Even in Gryffindor, it was a becoming a bit of an issue with some of the younger girls.  


So, stumbling upon Malfoy in a shop in Hogsmeade had caught him off guard, but not necessarily in a bad way. Buying new shoes was good, but not being treated like a war hero or a piece of meat by the man measuring him was even better. Even if that man also happened to be Malfoy.

Hermione took it in stride, as usual, getting straight to the point with the equipment list while Harry had just wandered around the store, confused and mildly annoyed.

Who knew there were so many types of Quidditch boots?

Witnessing Malfoy being civil and oddly charming while discussing Quidditch boots was atrociously invigorating. 

He was definitely still Malfoy though, especially after Harry's goading him at the counter. And he almost found Malfoy’s reluctant derision refreshing. But it was clear that Malfoy was far calmer than he used to be. He'd adopted an appealing air of not giving a fuck and it was savagely attractive.

And that comment about Malfoy getting on his knees for Harry. That was... quite something.

Hermione was determined to not make an issue of the experience though, talking avidly about the new runes Professor while they walked back up the path to Hogwarts. He nodded along to the conversation appropriately, distracted by thoughts of Malfoy’s hands and how ruddy and stained they’d gotten. Workman’s hands.

He’d never seen Malfoy with a hair out of place in the eight years leading up to the war. Now he wore glasses that he used as a headband, wore dragonhide boots that Harry would bet he’d made himself, and had hands and arms covered in polish stains from months of work. The git probably didn’t even realize how good he looked, all scuffed up and dishevelled.

But most importantly, Malfoy now wore muggle V-necks.

Harry hadn’t thought seeing Malfoy in a white V-neck with that stupid Dark Mark on display would be a sight he enjoyed enough for it to consume him, but nevertheless, here he was.

“Harry, are you even listening? You just said yes to following me up the girls’ dormitory.”

He frowned, trying to remember what she had been talking about, and shook his head.

“Sorry, ‘mione. No. Did you notice how Malfoy didn’t hide his Dark Mark at all?” He waved over his shoulder down the hill, Hermione nodding at his train of thought.

“Yes, it’s shocking to see it out so brazenly. It looked a bit damaged though, do you think he’s tried to get rid of it?”

Harry frowned even deeper, trying to remember what it had looked like.

“I don’t know, didn’t get a good look.”

“He was less than a foot away, Harry. You didn’t think to get a better look?”

“I was focused on other things, alright,” he rushed out, trying to cover up how he he’d been staring down Malfoy’s shirt the through the entire measuring process.

Harry had thought he’d gotten over the shock of being around attractive people after spending all summer at his gym. Especially the men. Merlin, who knew people could even look like that. But after this recent interaction with Malfoy, it was apparent that he was not, and would never be, over beautiful people. 

Hermione only smiled, hefting the bags up in her hands.

“He’s far more polite then I remember. Wonder what changed it all.”

Harry looked up at the castle doors ahead of them, thinking about the Malfoy family’s trial. Draco hadn’t looked nearly as comfortable or at peace as he had in the boot shop. He’d looked small and terrified, sitting next to his parents while they waited for the verdict.

It was a stark transformation after only six months. But, the same could be said about Harry.

He shrugged, pushing open the doors with his shoulder. “We’ve all changed.” 

She looked at him thoughtfully, nodding in agreement. “Certainly true. Ron says Blaise Zabini is in Auror training with him.” Harry made a sound of interest- he had not been expecting that. He hadn’t really thought about any of the Slytherins being a part of society after the war. It had just slipped his mind.“Apparently, Zabini is just as into the Cannons as Ron, so they’ve struck up a truce,” Hermione added.  


Harry grinned.

“Looks like Quidditch is solving all our Slytherin problems, who’d’ve guessed.”

She nodded to the Great Hall, where lunch was just ending. “Dumbledore probably would have.”

Harry gave a small smile at the mention of the deceased Wizard's, knowing it would have been true. The old codger had some the most wistful concepts of inter-house unity.

“Well, if it gives Ron a new friend to go through training with, then I’m fine with it. I can’t take much more of his nagging to join him,” Harry complained, pausing in their trek to Gryffindor tower to shift some bags to his other hand.

Ron had been avid about them joining the force together after they had received a free pass on their N.E.W.T.s from Kingsley. It had been an honor, but Harry hadn’t felt inclined to skip training so he could go straight into chasing more bad guys. He was tired and wanted a break. Both him and Hermione had talked Ron down into going through with Auror training rather than skipping it, but in the end, Harry chose to re-do his last year at Hogwarts.

He still didn’t really know what he wanted to do with his life, so finishing his N.E.W.T.s seemed like a good place to start.

Ron hadn’t let it go though, and Harry was getting annoyed. Thinking about his N.E.W.T.s made him think about Malfoy again. Malfoy, who was perfectly content working in a boot shop in Hogsmeade. If Malfoy had wanted to do anything else in the future he would need to complete his N.E.W.T.s, surely the Slytherin knew that? Why he hadn’t chosen to come back to Hogwarts was a mystery in itself. Maybe he wasn’t allowed anymore? Harry didn’t even know what Malfoy’s final verdict had been, he’d fled the Wizengamot before any sentencing had even begun.

For instance, Harry truly hadn't known that they'd taken Malfoy's wand.

Harry looked up as Hermione starting climbing through the portrait to the Gryffindor common room, opting not to think about it all too hard. He had other things to do that were far more important than daydreaming about Malfoy.

\------------

Unfortunately, daydreaming about Malfoy took up a lot more of his time then he’d anticipated.

Harry spaced out in classes far more than Hermione would have approved, and all of his distractions featured Malfoy:

Malfoy wearing muggle jeans.

Malfoy leaning casually against the wooden counter in his shop.

Malfoy wearing glasses.

Malfoy talking knowledgeably about quidditch boots.

Malfoy with ruddy, stained hands.

Malfoy wearing that obscene white V-neck.

Malfoy with his goddamn Dark Mark.

His favorite fantasy to daydream about was about how Malfoy had knelt in front of him and noticed how suggestive the position was. Except in his daydream, he didn’t blush like an idiot and tell Malfoy to stop lik he had in real life. Instead, Harry let the prat continue and many happy endings were had for both parties involved.  


However, there was a slew of confusing, surprising, and concerning emotions that went hand in hand with that one and Harry was still working on processing them.

His schoolwork was beginning to suffer.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco had put all thoughts of Potter away for the remainder of his day.

He'd finished sewing his leather samples, completed two new orders, and wiped down all the displays. He’d managed to successfully put it all out of mind until he was doing the end of day deposit.

But at the end of the day, Potter’s order still sat on the counter, taunting him. He couldn't avoid it any longer.

Draco’s looping cursive was a stark contrast to the Gryffindor’s chicken scratch on the parchment. He eyed the order suspiciously for a few moments before writing up a sticky note with the required materials, knowing they were running low on thestral hair and he would have to owl Hagrid. Draco didn’t particularly enjoy walking all the way up to the castle grounds for supplies, but at least it wasn’t snowing yet. And he should have enough to finish Potter’s boots before that would be necessary, though.

He walked into the back and stuck the paper to his noticeboard over the workbench, right in the middle where he wouldn’t forget it.

He propped his hands on his hips as he glared at the order, unwavering annoyance fueling through him.

If he was going to make boots for _Harry Fucking Potter_ , then they were going to be some of his best damn work.

And then Lisette would look over them to make sure he hadn’t fucked up because he’d still only been doing this for six months. After that, he could move on with his life and forget how fucking hulking and attractive Potter had become.

He ran his hands over his face in exhaustion, peering through his fingers at the velvet chair. He’d never be able to look at it the same again. Not after admitting aloud how he’d been on his knees for Potter.

God that was humiliating. Why did he ever speak to real people?  


He refused to acknowledge the parts of Potter that had tolerated Draco’s presence and instead chose to focus on the parts of Potter that hadn’t properly fit into his uniform. The fucker’s uniform shirt was just long enough to hide any impression of his cock, and Draco would have bet money that the trousers had been tight enough that he would have been able to see an outline, too. That shirt was probably the biggest disappointment all day.

Draco untied his leather apron and hung it on the hook beside the workroom’s door. He shut off the lights, thinking about what he was going to have for supper. Draco checked the locks on the shop’s safe and jotted a quick note to Lisette for when she opened in the morning. He grabbed his coat from the hook in the back, a thick, olive-green jacket he had stumbled upon one day in a muggle shop called ‘Military Surplus’. He locked the front door behind him on his way out, only to hear someone calling his name from across the street.

“Mr. Malfoy, sell any dragons today?” called Old Gerald McDervish, a local at the tavern who had taken a liking to him back in July. He was determined to permanently reside on the bench across from Sterling Brogan.

Draco smiled faintly in mild amusement, waving to him and moving across the street.

“No dragons, just their hide,” he said quietly in jest, while the smoke-raddled galoot continued to puff away on his ivory pipe.

The man shook his head, blowing smoke downwind, away from Draco. “Disappoint me every day, haven’t seen a single dragon since you moved in even though its on yer sign.” He shakily waved his pipe at the Sterling Brogan’s sign, which read ‘Quality Dragonhide Footwear’ beneath the shop’s name.

Draco just looked up at the sign in pride, shrugging like he did every time Gerald mentioned it.

“I’ll send one of our hawkers over next time they’re in, yeah?” he offered, knowing full well the old man wouldn’t take it.

He scoffed at Draco, waving a hand. “An bring a dragon down Hogsmeade? Are ye mad? They’d make a mess of High Street.” He coughed.  


Draco stepped back to make his way off.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t offer,” he drawled, taking another step back. “I've got to get in for supper, but I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” He waved, but Gerald was ignoring him to mutter about dragons as Draco walked away.

Gerald was one of the nicer folk in Hogsmeade. He barely knew anything that happened during the war because he’d been too busy in the pub to notice what was going on outside. But he always said hello to Draco when he passed by, andit was dearly appreciated. Gerald wasn’t a _friend_ per se, but simply having a friendly face to interact with every once in a while was worth the biting looks and comments he received the rest of the time. Draco was getting good at avoiding those folks, though.

He turned down the next alleyway, away from the main stretch of Hogsmeade and into a smaller residential area.

Draco only lived a short walk from the store, in a small studio flat that his mother would probably shudder at the sight of.

That is, she would if she was ever permitted to leave the manor grounds long enough to see it.

He quite liked it though, with his dark blue door he’d painted all by himself and his furniture pilfered from the Manor and muggle flea markets. Slowly, Draco had accumulated bits and pieces of décor here and there to make up his home. Things like a beautiful, evergreen quilt from the vintage store down the road, or even like the set of drawings he’d bought in Camden Market on his first covert excursion in muggle London.

He could floo or side-along for long distance travel, but that was about the extent of his magical capabilities without a wand. He’d had to adapt his lifestyle to accommodate for the stark lack of magic in his life.

Draco locked the door behind him, tossing his jacket onto the hook beside the door and looking around in pride. Every day he came home and felt proud of what he had accomplished. He had built it up from an empty, ugly box into something he cherished and felt safe in.

He’d even brought a few photographs of his parents.

So, he wasn’t _totally_ the estranged son Narcissa claimed he was when she had a little too much sherry after dinner. Her friends would come by once a week to visit her at the manor, but it killed him to think of Narcissa rattling around the property all alone. Occasionally, he would drop by on Friday afternoons after work for tea and dinner. That's when she would break out the sherry. 

Draco figured it was fine after everything she'd been put through the last few years, and he’d gladly sit through her complaining if it made her feel a bit better about their circumstances.

On the nights he didn’t see his mother, he sat at home and read. Draco received novels by post every month, through a muggle program called a ‘book-club subscription service’ he had signed up for in an internet café in London.

Draco hadn’t felt so useless about losing his wand anymore after he had learned about computers and the internet.

He had somehow managed to obtain muggle money, and had quickly learned that Wizarding Galleons were worth far more than the local Muggle currency. In comparison to the frugal habits he'd developed since moving out, this luckily gave him some leeway for larger purchases with Muggle pounds. It was a huge relief to have the option to use pounds in case of emergencies, even though it was difficult to get out of Hogsmeade and into the closest Muggle city. In the meantime, he selectively took advantage of the exchange rate for small luxuries when he was feeling particularly down.

His first major purchase was a small computer with a little apple on it. He liked how simple and pretty it looked. Draco would watch television on it with something the chap in the store called ‘Netflix’ and he would occasionally purchase useless items he didn’t need from a website called ‘The Amazon’.

He hadn’t the faintest clue about why a shopping website was named after a jungle, but he found the oddest little things on it.

The monthly book program was his favorite though, it brought him little bits of happy every month.

When he wasn’t reading, he was watching television, which taught him more about the muggle world then he had ever expected. The steep learning curve was quite exciting, and he’d hit the ground running with all the new contraptions he had discovered. 

Draco’s biggest irritation following his family’s trial was how useless he’d become without his wand. But after a few weeks, it had occurred to him that if muggles could survive without wands, so could he. This internet discovery was a goldmine of information on how to maneuver his new lifestyle, one of which he’d had to become increasingly adaptable.

But interestingly enough, a part of his new computer that Draco hadn’t anticipated was the sheer amount of pornography it had access to. It had been an honest mistake- at first.

He’d only been searching for a muggle term that had stumped him in his latest book,when suddenly, the screen had spontaneously erupted with moaning, busty, topless women and far more cocks than he’d been expecting to see on his quiet Tuesday night.

Draco had promptly slapped the screen shut and tossed the laptop away from him in shock.

He’d taken several minutes to collect himself while hiding in his kitchen, pondering all the truly sinful things muggles were doing to society. But after a while, his curiosity had won over and he collected his laptop off the floor to timidly investigate the new discovery.

After discovering the male-only section of the website he was even more pleased, having zero to no interest in women in any sexual manner. 

He didn’t visit the website daily, of course, but he never forgot about its existence.

Tonight, he had a very specific genre in mind.

Draco dug some leftover pasta from the previous night out of the fridge, tossed it into his dearly beloved microwave, and headed straight towards his bed.

It was placed artfully under the huge bay windows overlooking the Hogsmeade borough. Everyday, the windows provided a beautiful morning light to wake up under. At night, Draco could see stars overhead through the glass. It was an exceptionally perfect place for his bed, and a welcome contrast to the nightmares that were the Slytherin dorms last year.

Draco snatched the small, gold laptop from his nightstand and dropped backwards onto the bed, fingers carefully typing in the familiar website’s address after it turned on. Embarrassingly, he was still getting used to typing. He had difficulty getting his fingers to form the intricate patterns the keyboard required, so he mostly felt like a child when he typed, but he knew it would get better with practice. For now, Draco slowly typed with only his index fingers until he could muster the finesse required to do it properly.

He slouched comfortably into his puffy, white duvet, not bothering to change out of his work clothes. He would, undoubtedly, just be getting his current trousers dirty, so he saw no point in changing into clean ones until later.

Draco had one purpose right now: find a pornographic video of someone who resembled the offensive physique that Potter’d acquired. But, not someone who _looked_ like Potter. Not at all. That wasn’t what he was interested in. Nope.

He had no concerns of morality. He would never legitimately make a move on Potter, the man’s discomfort earlier that day had been shown clearly that the Gryffindor would be put off by Draco’s advancement. Nevertheless, if Draco had suddenly concluded that thick, muscular men were his new preference, then it was only appropriate for his to seek out decent inspiration.

He quickly scrolled over videos he didn’t care for, hovering over a thumbnail of a man with thick, black-rimmed glasses and a rose between his teeth.

Draco tilted his head to the side, mildly intrigued.

He opened the video, watching patiently as some upbeat muggle pop-music played in the background. It clashed with the sensuous vibe of the video, but it was easy to ignore.

The camera faced the side profile of a muscular man lying on a mattress garbed in grey boxer-briefs and nothing else. The slow but determined rhythmic motion of a hand on a cock could be seen through the thin fabric.

Draco slouched further, eyes flitting over the man’s body as he pondered the man’s close resemblance to Potter. It was amusing how quickly he’d found someone with the same aesthetic and physique as the Boy Wonder.

As he watched the man handle himself confidently, Draco’s own hand moved to unbutton his jeans while he absently wondered if Potter had ever made a video like this.

The man in the video suddenly rolled onto his front, done with fondling himself, and instead moving on to grinding his erection into the mattress. The muscles on his back flexed and rippled as he writhed against the mattress, face pressed into the pillow to hide his facial details as he shuddered through the motions.

From this new angle, only a mess of black hair with the arms of a pair of glasses sticking up though it was visible to the camera, so the man’s powerful back and perfectly sculpted ass made a clean image for Draco’s imagination to take over.

If he squinted a little, he could have easily been watching a video of Potter rutting against a mattress.

Unintentionally, he felt a jerk of lust at that thought, pushing the laptop off his lap and to the side as he yanked his shirt up his stomach and shoved the waistband of his jeans a few inches lower so he could handle himself properly.

It was turning out to be nothing like the long, stretched out night Draco had been planning. 

It was quick and rough, his eyes plastered to the on-screen image of the faceless man curling himself into the mattress, and Draco’s hips were grinding slow and hard in tandem with the man in the video’s, while his body quivered in tension. 

The man's muscles trembled as well and he continued to grind through his very real chase for release, causing Draco to arch up and look away from the screen.

Draco’s mind turned to thoughts of Potter sitting above him when Draco was on his knees earlier that day, and as he made an honestly pitiful attempt to think of _anything but that_ , his mind immediately filled in the image with the grey-clothed cock of the man on his computer screen.

The combined visual of a partially naked Potter on the chair above him was what pushed him over the edge. Draco choked on his breath, caught off guard and clenching his fist hard around the head of his cock as he came.

After a moment of breathing heavily and faintly listening to the stupid pop music of the video, Draco slapped the screen down and climbed off the bed to get away from it. He pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe at the cooling mess on his stomach before tossing the shirt into the laundry bin and going to search for clean clothes. After donning proper pajamas, Draco wandered back into the kitchen for dinner.

Apparently, he hadn’t noticed his microwave beeping at him while he was occupied.

He glowered at the no longer warm leftover pasta, shoving it back into the machine and reheating it all over again. Draco gazed listlessly at the rotating food beyond the glass window of his microwave, pondering the unhealthy way he’d just gotten off to thinking about Potter in compromising positions.

Unhealthy was the only word he could honestly associate with the whole thing. He’d been fine with it before the ordeal had begun, but now he just felt dirty.

It was a distinct point of shame when, after recalling the image of Potter wearing grey briefs with a fat erection while seated in his velvet chair, Draco’s already spent cock jerked again in interest. Draco nearly smacked himself.

He snatched his reheated pasta from the microwave and dropped it onto the small mosaic patio table he had adopted from a flea market, eating it with furious contempt. He would probably stop caring about this all later, but right now Draco just wanted to fume it out of his system. Then he could disregard this whole occurrence and get on with his life. Draco had become very good at ignoring a problem until it no longer existed.

And that’s what he needed right now: to drown himself in books and netflix and work until he forgot it ever happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco finished the Hebridean Black boots approximately two weeks after Potter had ordered them. Lisette had checked in on his progress whenever she was in the shop and she was quite satisfied with them. When he tried the boots on to test their base stability, like he did with any boot that he could fit into, he was also satisfied.

Despite all that, as he stood in the empty shop wearing the boots and staring at his reflection in the shop’s full-length mirror, a pang of disappointment went through him.

The boots were perfect, but they were a stark contrast to his own image.

His hair was overgrown and unkempt, the leather apron making him look lanky and awkward. His green, half-sleeved shirt was fine, but his dark mark was stark and ugly. Draco glared at it in loathing. 

It certainly didn't help Draco's self-esteem to look so messy, but he didn't have much of a choice as he wouldn't be able to afford a haircut anytime soon and his all of his clothes were stained or somehow ruined from his work in the shop.

He glanced over his reflection once more before stepping out of the boots and back into his own loafers. He had to admit that they weren’t completely atrocious; they were his old uniform shoes from Hogwarts. Draco couldn’t afford new loafers so he had to reuse his old ones, which had luckily been in fine shape when he moved out of the Manor.

They weren’t nearly as impressive as the boots he spent all day making, though. His own pair of Hebridean Black boots sat at the bottom of his dresser, reserved for special occasions only.

Draco picked up Potter’s boots on his way to the back of the shop. He placed the boots in the black glossed box with Potter’s initials taped on the top, grabbing a piece of paper from the drawer to write out his pick-up notice.

Draco wouldn’t admit how long it actually took him to write the letter, frowning down at the paper the whole time as he grew increasingly annoyed. And, if he ended up sounding a bit snarky and threatened to resell the boots if Potter didn't come by in a few days, then no one but the two of them had to know about it. It was technically in the contract anyway.

He signed at the bottom and wax sealed it with the shop’s insignia before tossing it into a pile of letters to be posted laying on the front counter. Draco chose to ignore the whole thing, quite unsuccessfully, and returned to his workroom to start on his other orders.

He wasn’t checking the clock every ten minutes for when Lisette would come in for the post and he definitely didn’t spend the time between clock-checks obsessing over what he was going to wear for the next five days.

\------

Harry had been so wrapped up in his daydreaming and fantasies that he'd almost forgotten about returning for his new pair of boots.

He was reminded of this while having breakfast one morning when a small black owl dropped, quite loudly, into the platter of eggs Benedict across from him. She had tawny spots spattering her coat of feathers and was glaring begrudgingly at Harry over his eggs and beans.

He slowly reached for the letter she’d dropped dangerously close to his pumpkin juice, handing her a piece of toast as a gesture of goodwill while he tried to open the wax seal one-handed.

Hermione was sitting across from him, reading a muggle newspaper she special ordered and ignored his new letter in favour of American politics.

Harry managed to shoo the owl aside while he finally ripped open the letter, immediately noticing Malfoy’s signature at the bottom. Or what he assumed Malfoy’s signature must look like it, he had never really seen it before. It was full of elegant curls and skill that Harry guessed his parents had trained into him.

He scanned the rest of the letter, seeing in awkward but professional terms that his boots were complete and he had five days to come in for a fitting, or else they may be forfeited for another customer.

It made sense, it was all highly expensive materials involved in the crafting process.

Hermione had explained how Hebridean Black hide was difficult to come by because they lived on the highest mountains in Scotland and only were visible to the naked eye during the first twenty minutes of sunrise in the spring. They were notoriously good at camouflage and that’s part of what made them so great for Quidditch boots. Harry thought it was a bit sad, hunting them like that.

But, Malfoy had said it was all properly done and they only hunted the bad-tempered dragons. Whether or not that was true, Harry didn’t want to think about.

Harry waved the letter at Hermione, chewing on a sausage. “Boots are done, I've got five days or Malfoy resells them.”

Hermione barely looked up as she nodded back. “It was in the contract that you never bothered to read.” She put her paper down and reached for the letter, skimming it over quickly.

“Did you see how pompous his signature is?”

He grinned.

“You saw that too? I bet it was his Mum taught him that.” 

She laughed, handing the letter back over and returning to her paper.

Harry carefully pet the grumpy, beautiful owl sitting in front of him. She sort of reminded him of Malfoy.

“No response,” he murmured to it, watching her fly off, and thinking fondly of Hedwig. He hadn’t the chance to look for a new owl this summer, and if he was honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Her death was still much too fresh. Harry returned to his breakfast, deciding he’d go see Malfoy tomorrow after he was done with classes for the afternoon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where we hit the ground running

Harry entered the boot shop in the late afternoon of the next day.

He'd changed out of his school robes into something more comfortable for a quiet afternoon in Hogsmeade. If he was going to face Malfoy, he wanted to be as comfortable as possible. Mostly because seeing the git made him feel the opposite of comfortable in the most distressing way.

At least, that’s what he told himself an hour ago when he was struggling to figure out what to wear, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. He’d settled for a white button down with a navy pullover and his favorite pair of dark wash jeans. It was his go-to outfit when he was confused. He wasn’t freaking out about looking good in front of Malfoy, he wasn’t.

The shop looked identical to how it had two weeks previously, the scent of leather polish hitting him as soon as he walked through the door. Harry saw no one at the counter, as usual, and assumed they were probably occupied in the back room when no one was in.  


He was still figuring out the process. What happened now? Malfoy hadn’t been the clearest on how the whole thing was done.  


Harry walked cautiously up to the counter, hands shoved into his pockets and leaning to the side, trying to look through the workroom door.

“Er, hullo?”

He waited a moment, listening for anyone in the back.

“One moment, I’ll be right there.”

Recognizing Malfoy’s voice, he watched the doorway eagerly, hands clenching into anxious fists. After a few minutes and a loud clang of metal, Malfoy emerged with a washcloth in his hand, once again scrubbing incessantly at his fingers.

He paused when he spotted Harry, holding his expression carefully blank.

“Oh, it’s you. Couldn’t say I’d expected to see you so... promptly.” Malfoy’s eyes flitted up over Harry’s person, something Harry noticed.  


Harry set his shoulders back, pretending like he wasn’t preening under Malfoy’s gaze.

“I can show up on time, occasionally.”

“Yes, occasionally. Please wait here.” Malfoy turned on his heel and disappeared into the back, leaving Harry alone in the shop once again.  


He licked his lips and looked around, feeling awkward. He was only here for Quidditch boots. That was it.

Malfoy came back after a few minutes, carrying a sleek black box with the shop’s name embossed in gold lettering on the lid in his hands.

“Here they are.” Draco put the box on the counter, opening the lid to show him. Harry stepped closer to peer inside, breathing in sharply.

“Malfoy, they’re brilliant.”

He pulled one of the boots out, certainly not expecting this kind of result. The boots looked like exactly the ones he’d chosen on display except far newer and with a nice shine to them. There were hints of blue marbling in the leather and the oak heels were dark and perfectly carved, some wicked runes carved underneath. He hadn’t expected handmade boots to be this beautiful.

Harry glanced back up to Malfoy, honoured.

“You made these?”

Malfoy smiled stiffly, but he couldn’t completely hide the look of pride. “I did. Lisette said they are my best work yet, so you better treat them right.”

It was kind of impressive how he could turn anything he said turned into a lecture, eerily similar to how Hermione could.

Harry smirked, looking back at the shoes. “Can I put them on? You said something about a fitting?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, taking the boot from his hands and putting it back into the box.

“If every boot I made was a perfect fit on the first try, I would have nothing left to apprentice for.” He put the lid beneath the box and nodded to the front of the store.

“Want to do this out here? You didn’t seem to enjoy the backroom last time.” Malfoy looked awkward.

It took Harry longer than it probably should have to realise that the awkwardness was because of the flirtatious kneeling moment they’d had the last time he was here- the one that he’d been pathetically daydreaming about for weeks.

He smiled, a little less confidently then he probably wanted, but he managed.

“Nah, back room.” He felt jittery and Malfoy looked back at him with mild surprise. “I’m feeling insecure about my feet today.”  


He wanted to get Malfoy in the back room with him again, even if it was just to try on boots.

Malfoy smirked at the weak excuse, hauling the box with him as he turned to go. “As if you have anything to be insecure about.”  


Harry smiled brightly, flattered.

He glanced over Malfoy’s back as he followed behind him, his garnet red v-neck pairing with his blond hair spectacularly. When his eyes got to Malfoy’s ass, it occurred to him that Malfoy was wearing glossed leather trousers.

Was it fitting to wear leather trousers when you worked with leather all day? His ass looked fantastic, Harry wasn’t going to object. But with the rugged apron Malfoy wore for work, it was quite a disarming outfit.

Harry dropped into the velvet chair just like he had two weeks ago, watching Malfoy set the box on the workbench and pull the boots out.

“The process is simple, you put the boots on as you would for Quidditch and you tell me if they feel funny,” Malfoy explained, untying a boot with deft fingers.

Harry nodded obediently, bending over to untie his trainers. Unfortunately, they were the same ruddy trainers as last time. He hadn’t had the chance to get new ones during their last shopping trip. They were the one part of his outfit he didn’t feel confident about.

“How do you even move with all those muscles?”

Harry glanced up from his shoes, surprised.

Malfoy seemed just as surprised as Harry, morbid embarrassment seeping through his cool façade. Apparently, he hadn’t meant to ask that.

Harry kicked off his shoes, thinking carefully about how he should respond while trying not to obsess about how Malfoy just admitted to checking him out.

“You get used to it. I don’t even notice half the time, to be honest. Though, I’m a bit worried about how my seeking during Quidditch’ll be affected. And it gets in the way when I try to move through crowds, can’t fit into small spaces like I used to.” He played it off casually, not wanting Malfoy to feel uncomfortable at the momentary slip up.

He pushed the old trainers aside, chewing on the inside of his cheek anxiously. Just because Malfoy checked him out before doesn’t mean he’d be open to being approached, so Harry chose to carry on as professionally as he could.

Malfoy held the boot gingerly, head tilted in consideration. He handed over the boot once Harry had gotten his trainers off, remaining by the workbench and pointedly not moving any closer.

“So, you’re saying your cock got bigger too?”

Harry stilled. He was pretty sure his brain was short-circuiting.

“Sorry?”

Malfoy grinned, and boy, that was a taunting look if Harry’d ever seen one.

“Put the boot on.”

Harry just stared back in astonishment, hands automatically following Malfoy’s commands even if his brain wasn’t completely functioning yet.

“I just figured.. you say it’s hard to fit into small places now. It's a perfectly fair assumption, based on the rest of your physique,” Malfoy carried on, all signs of his embarrassment replaced with that cocky confidence again.

Harry yanked on the laces of the boot, his brain finally catching up with what was happening.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he snapped hotly, holding a hand out for the other boot. “Even so, that’s not how biology works.”  


Malfoy handed the next boot over, grin still plastered across his face. He shrugged easily in response and folded his arms across the apron.

Harry glanced at Malfoy’s biceps as he crossed his arms; his eyes caught on the pale hair dusting the man’s forearms before he forced himself to look away. Now wasn’t the time to admire Malfoy’s appearance, especially when he was watching Harry so closely.

He kicked out his newly-booted feet, Malfoy graciously giving him a moment to refocus on the reason he was here. Harry pushed himself up from the chair, staring down at the quidditch boots in awe once again.

He’d never worn anything so comfortable or fit to him exactly.

Malfoy pointed to the mirror across from the workbench, stepping aside to let Harry get a look. Harry stood beside Malfoy, admiring the boots in the reflection.

“Brilliant,” he breathed, Malfoy staring down at them in thought.

All scandalous comments were gone now that they were back to business.

“Can you wiggle your toes?” Malfoy asked, stepping back along the workbench even further, as if to give Harry some more space. He hadn’t thought he’d ever get to hear Malfoy use the word 'wiggle'.

He did as the Slytherin asked, nodding when he felt enough room for his toes to move around with no constriction or pain.

“Shake your foot out, is it loose anywhere?” Malfoy carried on, clearly knowing his trade.

Harry put a hand on the work bench for balance, shaking out one foot at a time and shaking his head ‘No’ when everything stayed in place. They remained perfect even when he crouched a bit to test the leather's flexibility.

“Very nice.” He walked to the velvet chair and back. Who knew Harry would care this much about shoes?. Malfoy might be influencing him a bit in his taste of footwear.

When he looked back to Malfoy, standing in front of the mirror by the workbench, he noticed something and smiled.

“I'm as tall as you now.” He nearly laughed, Malfoy looking up at him and seeming to notice the same.

The boots gave Harry a few inches on his natural height, enough to rival Malfoy’s, who didn’t look very pleased at the new outcome.

“The one thing I always had on you and now that’s gone too. Well played, Potter.” He sighed, shaking his head down at the boots like it was their fault.

Harry chuckled, motioning at Malfoy. “Have yourself to thank for that.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“This world is so unfair sometimes.” He muttered, Harry taking a second to appreciate the similarities in height now.  


Malfoy had always had a few inches on him, but it was never something he’d cared about until now.

Harry patted a hand on the workbench, thinking back to a few minutes ago when Malfoy had been so brash and confident and vaguely flirty.

It caught him off guard each time he did it, but he liked it. And since his boots fit perfectly, he wouldn’t need to come back anymore and he probably would have to leave the shop soon. It was disappointing.

“Why you wanna know if my cock got bigger, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s refractory period was better than Harry’s.

He had a split second of startled surprise before he settled his expression into a smirk. Harry was jealous of how quick he got over it, especially when it had taken himself several minutes to deal with such direct and vulgar comments.  


“I don’t know, Potter. Apparently, I live to be bested by you. It would only be fitting if it reflected in cock-length as well.”  


It was a weak excuse and now it was Harry’s turn to grin.

“I don’t think so, try again,” he drawled, Malfoy’s eyes slamming to Harry’s with the look of something akin to fresh fear in them.

“You wouldn’t be that cruel,” Malfoy whispered, hugging his arms to himself in defense.

Somehow Malfoy had misinterpreted and thought Harry was mocking him. It was certainly a response Harry hadn’t wanted and it made him feel quite horrified. He didn’t want to scare or humiliate Malfoy, he'd just wanted to flirt with him!

Harry shook his head quickly, carefully stepping closer.

“No, Malfoy. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said quietly back, lifting a hand to him in hopefully a comforting way, not aggressively like Malfoy had interpreted.

The other stared at him with with a blank look, glancing to the hand held out near his arm. The wall of distrust and cold civility was back.

“What are you trying to accomplish with this then.” It wasn’t a question.

Harry huffed, removing his hand and rubbing it through his hair.

“I’m just failing to flirt with you,” he sighed loudly. “You always were better at words than I was. Even if most of them were threats. See, that’s something I can’t best you at, Malfoy.” Harry waved a hand around, aware of Malfoy’s eyes on him. “You’re far better at inciting fear boners out of me from your sheer nerve.”

It was a stupid statement, but he wanted to see Malfoy’s cocky and ballsy confidence again. If he had to say something stupid to get a reaction out of him, then he’d do it again.

“Really,” Malfoy muttered, sounding intrigued rather than infuriated.

Harry folded his arms pointedly at Malfoy and watched the other man glance down towards his arms, eyes following the fabric of his sleeves straining against Harry’s forearms. He decided to take that as a positive response to his efforts.

Malfoy propped a hip on his workbench, placing a hand near Harry’s hip and leaning into him.

“So, not only do I scare you, but you like it?” That egotistic confidence was back.

Harry grinned at the comment, letting himself look Malfoy up and down openly, now that he wasn’t afraid of getting caught.

“The absolute balls you have with those comments scare me, and it isn’t a bad thing.” Malfoy leaned back against the bench as Harry approached him, permitting him within his personal bubble. Harry could have reached out to touch him, but he stopped at the last second and gave Malfoy a hesitant look.

“I’m interpreting this as okay, since you aren’t cussing me out like usual whenever I do something stupid?” he offered, in a way asking Malfoy not only for permission but also to see how the other felt about the potential of their situation.

Malfoy snorted, his hands reaching out for the fabric of Harry’s shirt and yanking him closer rather forcefully.

“I’ll always cuss you out, don't expect that to change any time soon.”

Malfoy pulled Harry against him with strength Harry didn’t expect, his hands spreading over Harry’s ribs over as he dragged him in for a kiss.

It wasn’t tentative at all; he’d clearly thought about this before and there was absolute intent behind that kiss. Harry let himself groan into it, relishing in the feel and taste of Malfoy’s mouth against his.

He’d known he’d wanted this to happen, but he’d never known how to get here. Not in a million years would Harry have guessed this was what was going to happen when he went to pick up his boots.

Malfoy was much leaner than Harry and it made embracing him easy. Harry stepped in closer after a careful moment of hungry kissing, his arms boxing Malfoy in against the workbench and pressing the length of his body against the Slytherin’s.

Two brief seconds in and Harry already knew this was the best kiss of his life. The way Malfoy pulled Harry in was so goddamn spectacular, he'd never anticipated enjoying the rough way men kissed so much. It was leagues better than his brief snog with Cho and the months of insecure fumbling with Ginny. He always thought kissing had been boring, but now he finally understood why everyone was always going on and on about it. It wasn’t the snogging that had been his issue, it’d been the person. And clearly, Harry had found the right person.

The sheer intensity of the moment made up for any doubt Harry felt when he botched up his approach with Malfoy. It was clear they'd both wanted this no matter what Harry had been trying to say before.

He moved a hand from the bench to tentatively touch Malfoy, figuring it was fine if the Slytherin’s hands all over his chest and were any indication. It was almost funny how quickly Malfoy had gone at his torso once they started kissing.

After delicately touching Malfoy’s hips and back, his curiosity outweighing his nervousness as he found the edges of the red shirt and he eagerly ran his fingers across the hot skin of Malfoy’s lower back. The first thing he noticed was a cord stopping his hand from sliding up the back of Malfoy’s shirt. Then Harry remembered Malfoy was still wearing a leather apron, much to his annoyance.

He briefly left Malfoy’s lips to kiss down his jaw, settling on the man’s neck while Malfoy breathed heavily against his ear. Harry was attempting to focus on untying the apron while he tried to get as close to Malfoy as he physically could, which was proving quite difficult with a layer of leather between them.

“Fuck, Potter, what are you doing.” Malfoy gasped when he bit at his neck in annoyance, Harry shaking his head and pressing his face to Malfoy’s shoulder so he could try and focus on the feeling of the corded knot.

“This fucking apron.” He tugged at the knot uselessly behind his back, then Malfoy pushed at his arms shakily. He first reached up and pulled off Harry’s glasses, tossing them behind them on the workbench so they wouldn’t get in the way any longer. Then, Malfoy breathed in heavily for a second, trying to refocus.

He arched into Harry’s chest as he reached behind him, arms twisting back to untie the apron himself. Harry’s hands, now free, grabbed for Malfoy’s waist. He ground his hips into him instinctively, his neglected cock pushing against the bulge of leather between them.  


Malfoy shuddered under him at the sudden move, not expecting grinding to be part of the experience. One of his hands grabbed for Harry’s shoulder weakly, completely forgetting about the cords. Malfoy curled into him, and Harry mouthed at his neck again and forgot the apron for the moment. The new friction of rutting against Malfoy was too important.

Harry bluntly kicked Malfoy’s legs apart, moving to stand between them for a better angle. But even as he tried to move his thigh between Malfoy’s, the apron still got in the way.

He could feel Malfoy’s hands on his back while they ground against each other, searching for a better angle because of the layer of leather blocking them. Harry was pleasantly caught off guard when Malfoy kissed him again, sobbing brokenly into it.

It was swelteringly hot in the back room, but that might have just been Harry’s body temperature, mostly because he hadn’t been able to work out for a few weeks and he was getting out of touch. But Harry was glad for all those horrible core exercises Stevie had forced onto him months ago. It was all definitely making up for it now.

He pulled back from the kiss, much to Malfoy’s annoyance, if the frustrated whine was anything to go by, leaning away to pull his navy pullover off. Malfoy quickly changed gears, eyes locking in fascination to the button down Harry wore underneath, hands running down his chest with new interest.

“Never cared much for the muscular type before you, Potter,” he muttered, fingers snatching into the white button down and tugging him close again.

Malfoy caught him in a brief kiss while Harry thought about the admission, humming into it after a moment.

“I don't think I believe you,” he panted between breaths. Malfoy grinned against his lips in response.

Harry liked feeling him smile through the kiss.

He ran his hands down Malfoy’s sides, wanting to get his hands on his ass but knowing the table’s edge was stopping him. Now that Harry knew he was allowed to touch him like this, he never wanted to stop. It was like getting his hands on the crown jewels, sought after and priceless.

Harry gasped when Malfoy yanked his shirt out of the back of his jeans. Harry leaned hard into him, curled over Malfoy’s body as his hands shoved up the back of Harry’s shirt to grab his shoulders. Harry hummed low at Malfoy’s pawing, just the hint of nails prickling the edges of his shoulder blades.

Harry never thought scratching was something he might have liked, but he was one hundred percent into it now.

He kissed Malfoy’s neck as the Slytherin’s hands sprawled over his upper back, sucking faint marks into his pale skin as Harry allowed the intimate inspection of his torso.

When it felt like Malfoy had explored enough, Harry reached behind Draco to shove everything behind him to the far side of the bench. His hands moved down the back of Malfoy’s leather-clad thighs, setting his shoulders back in preparation. He heard Malfoy make a noise of confusion before Harry arched back, easily picking Malfoy up.

“Shit-” Malfoy gasped, Harry’s shirt hiking up under his arms.

Malfoy was grabbing uselessly at his back when before Harry put him down on the workbench, releasing his thighs and smiling smugly at his accomplishment.

Malfoy was just heaving in perplexed surprise, staring at Harry with a disheveled and flushed look from his new position.

“Of fucking course you would, Potter.”

His voice wasn’t as nearly as sharp as it could have been; he seemed faintly distracted. His eyes were on Harry’s exposed torso in reverence, his hands sliding over Harry’s bare abs and pecs, since his shirt was hiked up under his arms. Harry rolled his shoulders at the stroking.

“Care to help me with this?” He tugged it down for a moment, Draco pouting slightly at the disappearance of his chest. Harry chuckled, undoing the top buttons of his crinkled dress shirt.

“Come on,” he chided until Malfoy shifted himself back against the noticeboard and started helping him with the buttons.  


There was finally a moment of peace, the two of them silently working at the buttons together in unison. When he had the chance, Harry took in Malfoy as much as he could, trying to sear this memory into his brain.

Malfoy was the very definition of debauched. His hair was ruffled from its usual pristine cascade, instead falling all over his face. His pale neck was rubbed red and raw from Harry’s stubble, small purple marks blooming under the surface of his skin. His expression was probably Harry’s favorite part, though.

Malfoy looked open and calm, no sign of fear, judgement, or cold irritation in his features. Malfoy was just peacefully unbuttoning Harry's shirt, quietly content with their positions and not causing a fuss at all.

A very significant part of Harry wanted to see Malfoy like this every chance he could. If he could make Malfoy this unravelled and raw, then maybe they had a chance at something. Maybe they weren’t doomed to be enemies for infinity. Merlin knows he’d never see Malfoy the same after this. Harry had known he’d liked men before, but this wasn’t just regular attraction. This was satisfying a craving he’d never known existed.

Malfoy finally finished unbuttoning the shirt, pushing it shirt from Harry’s shoulders with a look of pride. Harry shrugged it off and let it fall behind him, placing his hands on either side of Draco’s thighs as he smirked at him.

“Bit uneven, here,” he teased, nodding to the apron Malfoy still wore.

Draco paused and glanced down, pursing his lips. He sat up slowly, now inches from Harry’s face as he reached behind himself for the apron’s cords. 

After a second, he glanced down at Harry, cocking his chin at him teasingly. He was just barely out of reach for Harry to kiss him and Malfoy knew it.

Nevertheless, Harry gladly watched him, thriving under the attention. He’d never have fucking guessed they worked this well together, but shit, he wanted more.

After working at the apron for a few awkward minutes, Draco finally leaned down to kiss him again, encouraging the oddly affectionate undertones of the situation. It was an easy and simple kiss, not so much heated as it was reaffirming. 

A shameful part of Harry purred under the affection, knowing it was rare to experience Malfoy like this, knowing it probably never make an appearance again. He tried not to think about that part.

While Harry was daydreaming about the sweet kiss, Malfoy pulled back in irritation.

“You’re going to hate me, but I think its stuck,” he whispered angrily, grey eyes glancing behind him frustratingly.

Harry stood up from where he’d been slouching between Malfoy’s thighs, keen to help. He reached behind Draco, leaning in close before pulling Draco’s hips to the edge of the table so he could get his hands behind him.

Malfoy grinned at the easy manhandling, leaning into Harry’s chest and choosing to continue exploring his back in the meantime. Harry stared over Malfoy’s shoulder at the knot, finally getting a chance to see what was wrong. Honestly, it was quite fucked- a mess of cord that he definitely wouldn’t be able to fix from this angle.

Harry stepped back, the cold air slipping between them.

“Scissors?” he asked, squinting to look around the workbench without his glasses. Malfoy scoffed, gently smacking his hip at the suggestion.

“This is a custom apron Lisette had made for me. I don’t have a wand to fix it after so I refuse to cut it,” he chided, but turned to look around the workbench anyway.

“Oh really, not even for me?” Harry joked. Malfoy giving him a dry look while he searched through a cubby beside the workbench.

Harry glanced at the cord stretching over Malfoy’s shoulder, the black of the apron clashing with the deep red of his v-neck.  


He playfully slapped the side of Draco’s thigh to get his attention. He had an idea.

Malfoy had leaned over and propped himself up on an arm when he felt the smack to his thigh, and raised his eyebrows at Harry’s nerve.  


Harry ignored him, instead grasping his shoulder to gently push him down onto the tabletop, but Draco’s thighs remained on either side of Harry’s waist as he held him face down. This way, Harry could see the knot behind his back.

He had a hand between Malfoy’s shoulder blades gently holding him in place as his free hand worked at the knot.

The truly groundbreaking part of the new position was that Malfoy didn’t struggle and push back against his hand, he stayed completely still. It was a sign of trust. Or, perhaps, he was waiting for a moment of vulnerability before attacking Harry? But, he wasn’t tense or stiff like he was ready to fight. His muscles were loose and he allowed himself to be pressed down into a nearly relaxed position.

Harry stared at the back of Malfoy’s head while he worked at the knot, wondering if Malfoy trusting him counted as a kink. It certainly didn’t discourage his urge to rut against him like a teenager, that was for sure.

He tried his best to untie the knot, but the cord just wasn’t having it. Only once he felt Draco begin to squirm did he lose his patience.  


He muttered a quick phrase under his breath, causing the cords to unravel and repel away from each other with fluid magic.  


Malfoy looked over his shoulder after feeling the apron loosen unnaturally quickly, his expression sharp.

“Was that... wandless magic?” 

Harry was expecting Malfoy to be offended, given that the man didn’t have his own wand at the moment, but apparently not. The only reason Harry hadn’t used magic in the first place was to protect Malfoy’s feelings.  


So Harry nodded in confirmation, running his hand down Malfoy’s back appreciatively as he finally pushed the apron off him.

“‘Course the fucking Chosen One can do that,” Malfoy muttered, sitting up and rolling his shoulders. They must’ve been a bit sore from being held down.

Harry shrugged, his hands running from Malfoy’s thighs to his waist greedily as the Slytherin pulled off the apron and tossed the offending leather piece away. 

Harry immediately peered down at Malfoy’s crotch, groaning loudly in frustration.

“More leather, Malfoy?” He looked up to see Draco just grinning at him and looking quite smug about his leather trousers.

“Can’t say I made it easy for you.”

“Christ, nothing’s ever easy with you,” Harry grunted, grabbing Malfoy’s hips and jerking him back towards the edge of the table roughly.  


He pressed himself deep between Malfoy’s thighs, as nothing was stopping him any longer. He heard Malfoy gasp at the sudden feeling of hands rubbing all over him and responding, in turn, by throwing his hands to Harry’s chest.

This time, Harry was the one to initiate the kiss. He nudged Malfoy’s chin with his nose, barely pausing the aggressive manhandling to gently kiss him, a brief change in pace before they went at it again. His hands slid around Malfoy’s waist, splayed fingers dipping under the red shirt and dragging up his back, hands clinging to the surprising softness of his skin.

He felt the blond arch into it, just like he had when Malfoy had done the same to him. The touch of skin on skin was hot and dragging and Harry loved it. He barely noticed the way Malfoy curled his legs around the back of Harry’s thighs, yanking him him in closer to resume the grinding from before.

This time, they were free from obstacles and Harry had no intention on stopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol lord have mercy, anyone else fuck around at work before?


	6. Chapter 6

Draco and Harry's kisses were open mouthed and biting, solely driven to match the rolling rhythm of their hips.

It was devolving into a messy and desperate chase for release, Draco clinging to Potter as he was shoved across the counter with every grinding thrust. 

They were pressed impossibly tight against each other, so much so that Draco could feel the sweat pooling on Potter’s skin where he clung him, vaguely noticing Potter’s fingers pressing under the waistband of his trousers. 

Draco keened, arching shamelessly to give him more room as Potter's hand inched down the back of his trousers.

Potter managed to flex his fingers on whatever flesh he could grasp, the tightness of Draco’s leather trousers making it difficult to grab onto his ass like he wanted.

It was stupid how they’d forgotten they were in a boot shop during business hours.

Potter had his face buried in Draco’s neck, Draco’s arms around Potter’s shoulders as they thrust against each other hard, their heavy breathing and faint groans filling the back room. They hadn’t heard the bell as Potter was so busy nibbling on the spot between Malfoy’s neck and shoulder. 

It was all very distracting, Potter’s hands and teeth and lips, and Draco allowed Potter to shove his shirt collar aside for better access as he barely hung onto the Gryffindor over him.

Draco stilled when he heard someone call from the front of the store, unsure if he’d imagined the voice or not.

Then Potter shuddered against him and abruptly bit down on the spot he’d been kissing.

Draco choked in pain, unprepared for teeth to sink painfully into his neck amid all the pleasure. 

He dug his nails into Potter’s shoulders while stiffening through the pain and Potter quickly released him after he realised what he’d done.  


Draco may have been whining at his throbbing shoulder, but he was still driven by his cock, vividly aware that Potter had come and he had not. So, he continued to weakly thrust against Potter, ignoring the pain to try and work through it.

Potter had slumped against him, his mass heavy and confining as he tried to hold himself against the table while his other hand remained down Draco’s trousers, fingers hot and looming.

“Afternoon, is anyone back there?” a woman called from the front of the store.

Potter shifted against him at the sound of someone interrupting them.

Meanwhile, Draco’s eyes shot wide at the sound of her voice, immediately panicking and ceasing all movement against Potter. He tried to push himself away, but the Gryffindor was just slowly turning his gaze to the door, as if he couldn’t be bothered to move. Potter stayed exactly where he was, keeping Draco trapped on the table. Draco removed his hands from Potter’s shoulder, covering his mouth to quiet his breathing while slapping at his stomach for him to move away.

Potter gave him a pointed look and refused to move from his spot between Draco’s thighs, especially now that he was trying to push him away.

When he refused, Draco attempted to slide past him, wincing painfully at the pinch of his trousers, but all his movements were stopped by Potter’s grip on his thigh and ass- one hand was still down the back of Draco’s trousers.

He glared at Potter like he was some sort of impostor, but the idiot just smirked back.

“Sorry, ma’am, I’m with a client at the moment. Could you come back in twenty or thirty minutes?” Potter called over his shoulder.

Draco’s jaw dropped, aghast.

“Alright, dear. Could you put the kettle on for me while you’re at it?” she called back, sounding perfectly pleasant and understanding.  


Draco began to smack at Potter’s ridiculous arms to let him off the table, but Potter's hand was, amazingly, still down the back of Draco’s trousers. It was that moment when he intentionally slid his hand between down cleft of Draco’s ass, pressing two fingers directly against his hole like it was a homing beacon. Draco stiffed and shuddered, legs unfolding around Potter at the alien feeling in such an intimate place.

“God, you have balls,” he muttered viciously.

“Yeah, you wanna see ‘em?” Potter whispered back, dragging his fingers pointedly across Draco's hole.

It was astonishingly intimate, and Draco could feel the gentleness of Potter’s fingers. Even while he was trying to shock him into silence, Potter was considerate of how sensitive and delicate he had to be.

Draco still gave his best warning glare, failing to not tremble against the caress of his fingers. It wasn’t very effective. Potter easily spread his thighs further as Draco slumped back into Potter’s chest, deciding to give up and just enjoy what was going on. Potter wasn't going to move away and he clearly had a plan so why the fuck not.

“Absolutely, ma’am. Right away,” Potter called back loudly, turning to Draco again and showing no signs of going to make the tea.  


Draco glanced up breathlessly, staring at the familiar green eyes and cocky he grin he wore, completely exposed and vulnerable to him.  


He made a choice, there, not to push Potter away like he knew he should have. Instead, Draco reached his head up up shakily, silently requesting Potter to kiss him.

There was a brief moment of surprise before Potter smiled, leaning down to complete the request. And Potter kissed him hard, like it really meant something to him. It was new and it hurt, but it felt so good. Draco tried not to think about it too much, he was trying to focus on Potter’s fingers and hands and naked torso, and he didn’t want to forget anything about this moment.

He vaguely heard the bell ring as the woman left the shop, officially leaving them in the clear. Not that Draco had tried very hard to care in the first place.

“Fucking gods,” he moaned loud and sudden, like he got punched in the gut, no longer concerned with being overheard. He began to move again, awkwardly rolling his hips against Potter’s thigh as he pressed down on him, trying to work against the fingers and friction at the same time. 

Potter grinned, licking into the open-mouthed kiss to distract him. Draco flinched when he felt Potter unbutton the front of his leather trousers, pressing his palm down against his naked cock.

“Shit-” Draco shuddered, trying to press up into Potter’s hand, but accidentally banging his elbow against the wall when he tried to reach for grip. He cringed in pain then hissed as Potter wrapped his fingers around him, clearly not satisfied with just palming.

“Merlin, Potter!”

Potter jerked him rough and fast, Draco’s other hand scrambling against the counter before sliding into the pile of product orders and scattering them off the edge.

Potter had dropped his head onto Draco’s chest, fixated on watching himself jerk him off, ignoring everything that was going on around him.

Which was perfectly fine; Draco wasn’t going to object to that. He was too high strung, chasing something that just wasn’t cooperating at the moment. He dropped his head back against the noticeboard, trying to remember how to breathe while his hips rolled to match Potter’s hand.

“Come on, Malfoy,” Potter goaded against his stomach, though he sounded more determined than annoyed about how long it was taking. “Want me on my knees? Want to see me swallow it? I've been thinking of you like that for the past two weeks.”

Draco stared at Potter with wide eyes, distressed and breathing loudly at the thought; he felt like he could come from the very thought of it. Unfortunately, his cock wasn’t having it.

“I don’t- Circe, Potter,” he whined, and Potter finally lifted his head from Draco’s chest to look at him. The fingers down the back of Draco’s trousers pressed harder into his hole, Draco’s body curling and trembling under the tentative intrusion.

“If you take any longer I might even get a second one in,” Potter mocked, and Draco instinctively scowled at the very idea.

Draco wrapped his hand around the back of Potter’s throat.

“How about you use that mouth for something other than bad commentary.”

He hadn’t expected Potter to grin in response, apparently just needing permission to carry on with his plans. To Draco's dismay, he moved away, removing his hand from his cock and carefully pulling his hand from Draco’s trousers.

Draco was left untouched, splayed on the table exposed and trembling. 

He did not approve of the sudden change.

Then, Potter grabbed his hips and dragged Draco over the edge, holding him against his bare chest to help him stand. Draco didn’t like this new position nearly as much as the previous one, but his mind was quickly changed when he watched Potter lower himself down in front of him.

The sight of Potter drop to his knees was, quite frankly, life-changing, and he certainly hadn’t expected to feel this rattled by the image. As much as Draco had always imagined it to make him feel powerful and victorious, he wasn’t feeling the least bit powerful right now. 

Draco couldn't even pretend that he was the one calling the shots. It was all Potter. 

Even on his knees, Potter was the one controlling and dominating everything that happened. And Draco was one hundred percent alright with that.

Evidently, Potter knew exactly what to do once he got to his knees. He grabbed Draco’s hips and set to work tugging the leather trousers down his thighs. Apparently, the new position allowed Potter to get his hands back on Draco’s ass. His fingers flexed and pulled at his flesh like he wanted to pull him apart, but his eyes were locked on the cock in front of him.

So far, everything Potter had done was spectacular and Draco was too wrung out to even be able to fake annoyance at the new chain of command. He was perfectly happy to go along for the ride. Though, he didn’t particularly want to see how red and angry his own cock was, so he chose to watch Potter's expressions instead, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the undeniable blush staining his face and neck.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to watch for very long, because it was over nearly the second Potter got his lips on him. With his mouth over the crown of his cock, Draco came, everything finally becoming too much for his poor erection.

Draco bent over from the sheer intensity, scrambling for the table behind him as his other hand clutched Potter’s shoulder, shuddering through it on shaky knees.

He had no idea if Potter even swallowed or not, but he could feel the Gryffindor holding him up by the waist, almost as if he knew Draco would probably fall. After a brief moment to catch his breath, Draco looked down at him, mind clearing from the haze.

Potter had his head tilted back, one eye closed while the other looked up at him, the white mess spilt across his face and jaw. It was quite an image.

Draco couldn’t help the weak laugh he gave, grasping on to Potter’s shoulders shakily as he held himself up. He glanced around for something to clean off with, looking to the workbench but not finding anything.

“My wash rag,” he mentioned quietly, and promptly Potter held up a hand as said wash rag came flying from around the doorway. It smacked into his palm, which he silently offered up to Draco.

He hadn’t said anything yet, but Draco gently wiped the best of the mess away, making sure to clean Potter’s eye as thoroughly as possible. He knew the Gryffindor was watching him with his one open eye, but now he didn’t really know what to say.

Thank you? Sorry I subsequently couldn’t come for forever but also didn’t last three seconds into a blowjob? Do I ever have to see you again? Can I ever see you again? Can we do that again but not at my workplace, preferably somewhere with a bed?

“Saltier than I expected,” Potter finally commented once he put down the rag. Draco hissed as Potter took it upon himself to try and fix his trousers for Draco.

He took over, pulling them up from around his thighs while glancing down at Potter cautiously. Potter was just watching him, eyes calmly following Draco’s hands as he tucked his prick back into his trousers.

“Thought never occurred to me, to be honest,” Draco whispered honestly, holding a hand out for Potter to stand. Potter smirked at the offered hand, taking it gently. He didn’t really need any help, but instead used the motion to twine their fingers together as he rose.

When he was back on his feet, Draco looked down, noticing Potter was still wearing the boots.

“Guess the boots held up,” Draco commented, looking at them fondly. Potter laughed, looking down at them and nodding as well, flexing his fingers against Draco’s.

“If they can get through that- ” he nodded at the desk, “I think they can get through anything.” He finished in a quiet tone, sending Draco’s skin crawling as Potter stepped closer to box him in against the table again.

“I have to put the tea on for an old lady, Potter. I don’t have time for this.” Draco changed the topic, trying to avoid another potential episode.

Potter smiled, just leaning in and giving him a small, sweet kiss after ignoring Draco’s attempt to shoo him off. Draco allowed himself a moment to enjoy it, pressing back into the impossibly soft kiss before pulling away.

He pulled his hand from Potter’s, staring at him hard and forcing himself to change his tone.

“I don’t have time for this,” he repeated. Potter gave him an odd look.

“Are you just deflecting or are you serious?” Potter whispered, Draco seeing the hurt begin to set behind in his green eyes.

Draco licked his lips, turning to the workbench and glancing around. He had to move through the mess of papers to find Potter’s glasses. He picked them up, giving him a hesitant look.

“I don’t know,” he whispered honestly, his voice rough. He unfolded the glasses and lifted them to Potter’s face, gently placing them back on his nose until the familiar green eyes peered back through the lenses.

They stared at each other heavily in the silence, Potter finally stepping back to release Draco from his hold against the table. But Potter looked hesitant, standing half-naked and oddly vulnerable. It made something in Draco’s chest hurt.

“So, you want this to be a one off or what?” Potter tried again, nervously attempting to get clarification.  


Draco stared at him weakly, looking around the room for an answer but not finding one.

His poor, defiled workroom. He didn't know what to say. When he didn’t respond right away, Potter bent over to grab his shirt off the floor.

Draco stared down at his back muscles as he bent over, noticing the scratches and marks on the back of Potter’s shoulders from where he’d been clinging to him. Draco lifted a hand to the side of his own neck, gingerly petting where he knew there would be a mark from Potter biting him. It still throbbed, stinging lightly when he prodded it.

When Potter stood, he noticed Draco holding onto his neck, quickly stepping in to push his hand away.

“Does it hurt?” he mumbled in concern, looking worried as he touched the mark with his fingertips and pulling Draco’s shirt collar aside.  


He leaned in to see, forgetting all about the conversation they needed to have. Draco just stared at him from a mere few inches away, numbly allowing himself to be inspected.

“There’s a bit of blood. I’m so sorry, Draco, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Potter whispered. Draco blinked hard at the whiplash of hearing his first name.

“Since when do you call me ' _Draco_ '?” he complained loudly, looking at Potter in mild offense instead of inquiring about the probably concerning amount of blood.

The other just gave him a sarcastic look.

“‘think that changed when you came all over my face?” Potter shook his head in disbelief, nudging Draco to go sit on the velvet chair.  


“I’ll take care of it. You got any plasters in here?” Potter carried on.

Draco sluggishly pointed to the red box under the workbench, noticing the way Potter said it the same way one would say 'I’ll take care of you'.

Draco insecurely watched from the chair, his eyebrows raising at the sight of Potter’s ass as he bent over to fetch the first aid kit.  


It was enough to pull him out of his compliance and reverie.

“I can do the plasters myself, Potter.” He stood up, moving towards the bench to push him away.

He had to run his shop. He didn’t have time for whatever post-sex coddling Potter was trying to pull. He didn’t want to be soft with Potter; he didn’t want to be taken care of like this. Maybe, if he said it enough times he’d start to believe it.

Potter glanced up as Draco approached, a look of confusion passing over him.

“What?”

“I can do it myself, I’m fine.” He closed the first aid kit with an outstretched hand, giving Potter a pointed look. The Gryffindor just stared back, obviously perplexed at the change of tone. Draco shook his head impatiently, huffing loudly and shoving the rest of Potter’s rumpled-up clothes into his arms.

“Please put these on and leave.”

Potter finally seemed to piece together what Draco was saying, frowning and placing his clothes down onto the bench.

“What happened? Why are you doing this?” he demanded, not backing down as easily as Draco had hoped.

He pursed his lips, staring through the door to the front of the store to avoid looking Potter in the eye.

“I have to get back to work. I don’t have time for this, Potter. I said it before and now I’m saying it again,” he continued, moving past him to clean up the mess of papers he’d created during their stint.

He could tell by Potter’s hunched position and furrowed brow that he wasn’t pleased.

“Don’t have time for what? Talking? Letting me fix your cut?” He sounded hurt, and Draco knew the look Potter had on was probably agonizing. 

Before, when Potter asked what they were doing, he hadn’t responded, but now Draco had an answer for him. He faced the noticeboard over his work table, expression hard and shoulders stiff.

“I don’t have time for bullshit, Potter. You wanted to know what this was, well, it’s nothing. Now kindly leave.”

The silence that followed was excruciating.

Draco still refused to look over his shoulder as he heard Potter pull on his clothes and leave the work room. The clunking sound of his new boots on the wood floors was the final straw as he walked out of the shop, bell ringing quietly behind him. 

Quite suddenly, Draco was left alone.

Draco tugged his small pile of papers against his chest, staring down at the table solemnly and trying to convince himself he hadn’t made a mistake. 

He didn’t have time for relationships or friendly chatting or being taken care of. He had to focus on his apprenticeship. He had to focus on taking care of his mother. He had to focus on getting home safely every night, at least until he could prove that he wasn’t a psychotic Death Eater like his father was.

Draco glanced around the wrecked workroom, seeing the evidence of their debauchery everywhere. It was odd, how quick he’d gone; how just only minutes ago they’d been clinging to each other so desperately. Potter had tried to stay though- he hadn’t given up too easily. However, it still hurt how Potter hadn’t fought nearly as hard as Draco would’ve liked. After just one scathing remark, he was gone. He should have expected it, though. Maybe, he was just used to Potter fighting back with him. 

Draco knew it wasn’t the best way of judging someone’s intent, but if Potter couldn’t deal with one quip, then he certainly wouldn’t be able to deal with the shit people would say about them together. If the great Harry Potter and ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy were involved, he’d have to put up with so much worse.

When he finally spotted Potter’s old trainers laying under the chair, Draco groaned, covering his face with his hands and leaning over the workbench. He would either have to return them, or throw them out. 

Or, more frighteningly, Potter would come back in search of them. He couldn’t even pretend that Potter wouldn’t, because clearly, these were the only pair of trainers he owned.

Draco chose to ignore the offending trainers, picking his apron up from off the floor and cleaning the scattered papers instead. When faced with the old washrag, he didn’t dare touch it, simply knocking it onto the floor where he could kick it into the pile of leather scraps. He would deal with it later, when he didn’t feel so dirty and ashamed.

He had all been briefly alright. That is, until he’d started to think about it all. Potter was clearly more than content with it, and Draco’s composure had even lasted for approximately five minutes. 

And then he’d panicked, because what if Potter wanted to pursue something? His life was already seventy percent shit whenever he had to go out in public, he couldn’t bring that down on Potter too. The poor idiot said he already had a tough time shopping, what would happen to him if word got out that he and Draco were associated with each other?

Draco just stood there with his head buried in his arms, absolutely aware he’d fucked up and knowing he couldn’t fix it. But if he tried to fix it and whatever they had turned into something tangible, it was going to be doomed no matter what. The only choice Draco had was to accept that that could never happen again, and then stick to it. It was the best option.

They were attracted to each other, they had a quick shag, and now it was over. It was that simple.

He lifted his eyes to the notice board over the counter, swearing loudly when he saw all the papers had been ripped to shreds. He tried to fix them the best he could, but the damage had been done. Draco just stared at it all, feeling small and empty. He couldn't even use magic to repair it.

The evidence of their episode was everywhere. He wasn’t going to be able to forget this like he usually did with anything else that was mildly inconvenient. Of course, it was all the more miserable because deep down, he’d genuinely enjoyed being with Potter. 

He heard the store’s bell ring as a customer walked in, jumping up when he remembered the woman from before. 

Draco grabbed his apron and rushed out front, tying the cords behind him while giving the best fake smile he could muster at the moment. The older witch, a regular who came in for her daughter’s Quidditch supplies, gave him a frightened look from the counter.

“Oh, dear. What happened to you, are you quite alright?” she asked concernedly, and Draco hesitated before realizing what a mess he must look. His eyes widened as he remembered the bite he’d stopped Potter from bandaging.

He slapped a hand over the mark on his neck, smiling nervously.

“I’m fine, thank you. Just had a run in with a kneazle behind the shop. What can I do for you today, Dorothy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wee babies (✖╭╮✖)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad boys are sad

Harry was not alright.

His walk back up to Hogwarts was one of stunned silence, spent numb and not sure what to think. He felt like he’d been hit with about six bludgers but there was no medical team to help with the cleanup.

His immediate thought after Draco kicked him out was ‘ _did I just get used?_ ’

It was a valid scruple. He certainly wasn’t in the wrong to unnerved by the whole thing.

But, Harry knew he hadn’t been used. There were too many instances where Malfoy’s affection had shown through in his small, soft kisses. He had kissed him like he meant it, not like this was just a blowout of rising tensions. Maybe it had been at first, but by the time Draco reached up to kiss Harry after that woman had walked into the shop... that image was going to haunt him.

So, Harry decided to go see Hagrid. It was still light out and he always felt better after seeing his old friend. Unfortunately, after thirty minutes of stilted conversation and the realization that he couldn’t exactly tell Hagrid “I just fucked Draco Malfoy before he kicked me out and I really didn’t know how to feel about it”, he left with the vague excuse of homework. Hagrid had told him to feel better as he left, clearly aware that something was up. But Harry only wished he knew _how_ to feel better.

When he made it back to Gryffindor Tower, he dropped onto the empty red couches by the fire, listlessly staring into the flames and replaying the whole charade over and over again in his head.

Draco had been the one to kiss him first and had reciprocated _wholeheartedly_ throughout the entire experience. It had taken Harry a while to make Malfoy come, but those things happened to everyone and couldn't be the whole reason why he’d rejected him. They'd even managed to have an awkward, but polite, conversation afterwards!

Everything was so muddled and confusing. It felt like Harry had been given a taste of something real and genuine, only for it to be ripped away from him once he realized how much he wanted more.

He sunk deeper into the couch, trying to disappear into the pillows, only to wince at the drag of the cuts on his shoulders against the fabric. Harry knew they weren’t deep enough to be concerned, but they were still a stingingly painful reminder of how Malfoy had been clinging so tightly to him that he damaged him in the process.

But Malfoy had said he didn’t have time for bullshit.

Malfoy’s words and actions just didn’t match up. How Malfoy was capable of switching his icy exterior back on after such an intimate moment was frightening; Harry felt like he'd taken a brick to the back of the head. Even after all the years of experiencing that exact same behavior from Malfoy himself, a small part of him had thought maybe they'd gotten over it.

And it wasn’t even that Harry had just had the hottest experience of his life and he was now overly attached- he knew it wasn’t because of those fucking kisses! He was so sure Malfoy was going to shove him away once they got walked in on, and while he had been a bit pointy about it, the exact opposite had happened once he'd given it a chance and opened up.

If Malfoy hadn’t meant the entire thing, he wouldn’t have looked at him like that, he wouldn’t have cleaned Harry off so gently, and he wouldn’t have fucking begged Harry to kiss him after getting walked in on.

There was just too much evidence. Harry was reeling in the chaos of all the emotions.

When people started returning from dinner, he headed up to the dorms, figuring sleep was better than anxiously thinking himself in circles while being crowded by his housemates.

He’d just started to pull off his button down when some of his dorm-mates came in.

“Jeez, Harry, what bird scratched you up like that?”

He spun around at the sound, eyes wide as Brendan and Quinton walked in. Both were seventh years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team with him. They were the ones in the dorm Harry got along with the most.

Harry was one of only six eighth years to return to Hogwarts. That meant they had to be redistributed to new dorms with new roommates. Harry's new dorm-mates were alright guys, none of them were massive assholes or loud snorers. They weren't Ron and the rest of his old friends, but they got on well enough to feel like he had some companions that didn’t consist of only Hermione.

“Sorry, what?” He feigned ignorance, tossing the button up into the hamper and keeping his back turned to them as he made his way to the dresser.

Quinton, from what Harry knew, should have been put in Ravenclaw.

The younger male came closer, not caring for Harry’s deflection as he peered over his shoulders in morbid curiosity. “Your back, have you seen it? Your girl needs to cut her nails.”

He didn’t touch Harry, but he still felt horridly exposed.

“Nah, haven’t had the chance. Is there any blood?” he asked weakly, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, mildly concerned.  


Brendan peeked at it on his way to his bed after dragging Quinton away, shaking his head.

“No, just some nasty scratches. Better go take a look though.”

Harry grabbed an old Cannons shirt before heading to the loo, lights flickering on as he entered the room. He stopped in front of the mirror, carefully placing his Cannons shirt on the rim of the sink. Harry turned to investigate his back, stilling as he saw what Brendan and Quinton meant.

There were small half-moon cuts along the top of his shoulders that had been stinging at him all afternoon- he wasn’t surprised by those. The huge red lacerations running down up and down his back were pretty ghastly though.

He hadn’t even noticed Malfoy being that rough with him. Harry had been thinking he was the only one to cause considerable damage, but clearly, he was wrong. Malfoy clearly favored scratching to Harry’s biting.

He stepped closer to the mirror, facing forward to look at the front of his torso, leaning into the mirror. He could spot small hickies dotting his shoulders and throat, the little purple marks unfurling something hot deep inside him. He couldn’t remember even half of these being made, but he wished he did.

“See? No consideration at all, that one. Just brutal.” Brendan walked in, motioning to Harry’s back and shaking his head. Harry just stared back at his tired reflection, sighing heavily at the morbid truth behind it.

“Brutal isn't even the start of it,” he muttered, leaning into the mirror to look at the deeper cuts over his shoulder.

The huge scratches down his back would heal quickly, they just looked nasty because his skin was agitated. The cuts on his shoulders and neck were deeper, small half-moon slivers of dried blood. Thankfully, they weren’t bad enough to seek medical attention. There was no need to go looking for an ointment or potion from the Hospital Wing. 

Merlin knows what Madam Pomfrey would say if she saw all this.

Harry glanced over the hickies again, feeling conflicted when he realized how much he liked them. It was like he was carrying evidence of Malfoy on him. He was mostly indifferent to the pain associated with the scratches and cuts, but they were all proof of how much they’d wanted each other. 

It was carved into his skin. Merlin knows, he’d left a big enough mark on Malfoy to diminish these tiny things.

Harry felt ashamed of that. He never knew he’d liked biting, let alone enough to cause that much damage. His shame only increased once he realised Malfoy's bite mark was probably bad enough to scar.

Harry liked these marks, but what if Malfoy hated them? He’d certainly kicked him out fast enough to make it seem like he hadn’t liked any of it. Harry’d already damaged Malfoy enough in the past, now he was potentially scarring him on top of it? It was just horrid.

Harry yanked the Cannons shirt over his head and left the loo. He grabbed clean sleep pants from his trunk on the way, climbing into his bunk and shutting the curtains behind him. Usually he didn’t care about changing in front of the others but today was different. Today he didn't want anyone to see him. Even if Quinton and Brendan had already seen the marks, Harry felt too exposed to leave the curtains open.

He squirmed out of his jeans, kicking off his briefs before noticing the stained fabric inside from earlier that day. After getting kicked out of Draco’s shop he’d spelled himself clean, but seeing the remaining stains were just another ugly reminder. He banished the stained briefs and pulled on the sleep pants, dumping his jeans outside the curtains before burying himself into the quilted blankets.

He felt like a wounded animal, needing to curl up and heal. All Harry wanted to do was forget what had happened. He’d spent weeks fantasizing about Malfoy and, somehow, it had miraculously come to fruition. But given their history, he should have known it wouldn’t end well.

It was their oddly perfect chemistry that fucked him up the most. Now Harry couldn’t get the possibility of some sort of relationship with Malfoy out of his head. It hurt, because even though he knew they would be so good together, it’d never happen. With Malfoy shutting him down that quick, nothing was ever going to happen. 

Maybe he should have fought harder. Though, his gut reaction after being called bullshit was to run away; he couldn't have stopped himself from leaving. Not after putting himself out there like that. 

It was a whole-body ache, knowing he'd had a taste of what could have been.

Harry never even knew he’d wanted something like this. He knew he'd eventually wanted to settle down with someone who treated him like an equal and a real person, but he certainly never thought it could be Malfoy. 

Not that he was thinking about marrying the bugger- that'd be a laugh. But just the possibility of trying something with him, giving that small bit of potential they'd found a chance. But now that Harry had found it, he couldn’t have it. 

He’d always wanted to live his life like a normal person, to stop being seen as a hero by everyone and to be left alone, by the public and by Voldemort. He just wanted to be _left alone_.

Now he had a tiny chance of a normal life, possibly with a brilliant but very unexpected person, and still, he couldn’t have it. Malfoy didn't even give him the decency of a proper reason why, just called it all bullshit and tossed him out.

Harry knew he was acting like the end of the world was upon them and he was probably being childish, but he had a serious amount of emotional whiplash from the last few hours, he really just didn’t know how else to act.

He didn’t even know if he wanted to tell Hermione about it because it would just mean reliving it all. And if it was going to hurt Harry this much, he wanted to forget it ever happened in the first place. 

Deep down, he knew it was just a pathetic lie to make himself feel better. He didn't want to forget any of it.

\----------------------

Leaving the shop that night was a relief. Draco wanted nothing more than to go home and take a shower.

It wasn’t that he felt dirty, so much as he needed to stop feeling like he was in limbo and waiting for something dreadful to happen. A shower felt like the only way he could reset himself.

He wrapped his green jacket around himself as he trudged down High Street, mind set on properly bandaging up his neck and getting into pajamas. He craved the safety and comfort of home.

Draco had felt high strung and anxious all day. He was miserable because he knew how poorly he’d handled the incident, while also equally terrified that Potter might come back for his trainers. 

He had to come back eventually; the git hadn't paid for the rest of his boots. He knew the likelihood of him returning same day was slim, especially after their blowout, but he remained tense all afternoon waiting for something to happen. It was exhausting.

Draco narrowly missed getting slammed into, glancing over his shoulder at the tall man who was sneering at him. Draco looked ahead, carrying on as if it hadn’t happened.

He finally turned down his street and quickly made it up to his apartment, locking the door behind him and leaning against it heavily.  


He managed to stare around the safety of his home, his muscles slowly unclenching and breathing easily for the first time in hours. No one would find him here.

He slowly shrugged off his coat and pulled off his shirt, cringing as he smelt the sweat on it. He had been able to smell it on himself all afternoon. That was one of the the consequences of rutting against someone for thirty odd minutes in a tiny work room with no change of clothes.

He shed the rest of his clothes on the way to the toilet, dropping them to the floor as he went. He needed to shower before he could do anything else.

Draco had held it together for the afternoon, but now he no longer needed to hide behind a mask of civility and he desperately didn’t want to have a break down in the middle of his flat. 

That's what showers were for.

After tossing his leather trousers into the hamper, he flicked on the bathroom light and looked at the black-rimmed mirror that hung above the sink. He stared at his reflection in stunned silence.

He had barely managed to put himself together after Dorothy had left, but Draco had never gotten around to bandaging his neck.

His hair was limp from dried sweat and the skin around his jaw and neck was rubbed raw from stubble burn. It wasn't surprising, he'd been expecting the stubble burn. The part that shocked him about his appearance most was the angry red and purple bruises surrounding an atrocious bite mark between his neck and shoulder.

He stepped in closer to the mirror, astonished at how truly gruesome it looked. Draco leaned way over the counter, poking lightly at the teeth-shaped gashes cut into his skin. There was a thin scab slowly healing over the cuts, but leaving it exposed for so long wasn't going to end well.

“Well, well…” he mumbled, somewhat impressed. No wonder Dorothy had been spooked.

Draco stared at it in alarm for a few more seconds before working out how to deal with it. He reached under the sink for a muggle first-aid kit he’d bought, finding some disinfecting ointment and comically large plasters. He thought the oversized plasters were hilarious when he’d first laid eyes on them, but now Draco understood why they were there.

He slowly opened the packaging, not having had much experience with muggle medical products, and read the instructions before applying the healing ointment to his skin. The potential side effects of the ointment were fairly concerning but this was all he had available at the moment and didn't have much choice.

His mother always had dittany around when he lived at the manor, but Draco wasn’t permitted anything like that anymore. No wand, no potions, very restricted floo access. He had to make do with muggle inventions. Which was fine- he wasn’t too put off by it. If these things worked on muggles, then it would hopefully work on him too.

He applied the clear, shiny liquid to the cuts before placing the obnoxious plaster over top of them, staring daftly at the odd nude colour the plaster tried to mimic. It was like they wanted to convince people the plaster wasn’t there but hadn’t even bothered to try. Or maybe muggles just didn’t have the ability to fake it that well? Both seemed equally likely.

Nevertheless, Draco couldn't be bothered to think about that right now, turning in the mirror to glance over his body for anymore potential damage. Nothing but the red blemishes of stubble burn and the bite mark remained as evidence, at least, nothing that required his immediate attention, so he proceeded to turn on the shower.

The water pressure in his flat wasn’t the best, but Draco had hot water and that was good enough. He was in no position to demand petty things like better water pressure.

He waited for the shower to heat before stepping under, turning his face to the onslaught and trying to not think. Once he started to think, that’s when everything would fall apart.

He kept telling himself that pushing Potter away was for the best. He wasn’t comfortable with continuing or even humoring something between them. That didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt how much he wanted to try. If it had just been quick and dirty sex, he wouldn’t have cared. That he could deal with. But this was different. They’d gotten on so fucking well and there had been so many small, intense kisses that actually made him feel like he was valued and wanted. Those hurt to think about. And the way Potter had held his hand and kissed him so sweetly at the end? _Fuck_.

Then Draco had shoved him away and called the whole thing bullshit.

He frowned into the spray of water, tilting his head back and reaching around for his shampoo.  


It kind of was bullshit. They’d hated each other no more than seven hours ago. Now there was suddenly this huge unknown thing between them.

Draco had been happy with his tiny flat and his apprenticeship with Lisette. He hadn’t needed anything else. He could ignore the looks and snide comments he got when he walked home at night, but Potter wouldn't be able to. The poor sod was so used to being loved and appreciated that he probably never knew what it was like to be scorned by the general populace.

The moment Draco thought that, he knew he was wrong. The period during the war when bounties were put out on Potter’s head was a clear indication that he had, in fact, dealt with hate. He'd heard the Death Eaters who roamed Malfoy Manor mocking the bounties put out on Potter. Draco had never really fallen for their pathetic attempt at conditioning people into thinking Potter was an outlaw, but the people who read the Prophet probably did. And that was dangerous.

Therefore, it was quite unfair to say that Potter couldn’t take the kind of hate Draco dealt with these days. If anything, Potter had felt it first.

Draco rinsed out his hair and hissed at the sudden stinging at his neck, soap sliding under the plaster and over his raw skin.  


Was that supposed to happen? He hadn’t even considered if the plaster was waterproof, he’d just automatically assumed it because Wizarding bandages.

He decided to quickly finish his shower and deal with the plaster after, rushing through his routine to keep his mind busy.  


When he checked the plaster after stepping out, towel wrapped loosely around his waist and leaning over the bathroom counter, it became apparent that the muggle plaster was indeed _not_ waterproof.

Draco swore at the packaging on the box, cringing in disgust as he peeled the soggy material off and wiped at the wound with tissue paper. He managed to apply the ointment and plaster more quickly this time, holding his hand over the plaster afterwards and feeling the heat radiate from under the unnatural plastic.

It would be fine. The bite would heal over in a few days and then he’d be able to forget about the entire ordeal.

Draco knew he should be grateful for the memories as he lay in bed wrapped in only a damp towel, dinner forgotten as he curled around his laptop to watch muggle tv shows. 

Once it stopped hurting to think about them, he would be fine. For now, he just had to move on with his life and prepare for Potter to return for his trainers.


	8. Chapter 8

For the next several days, it rained in Hogsmeade.

Draco knew the weather must be some sort of punishment for his actions. The significant lack in customers was probably due to the rain, but as he sat in the shop quietly working on his boot orders, it only made his mood worse.

The isolation was punishing.

He hadn’t received any owls requesting Potter’s trainers be returned and he’d seen no sign of Potter himself to settle his debt for the boots.

Draco had spent his nights trying (and failing) to read or watch Netflix. When that hadn’t worked, he had pathetically turned to his pornography videos to forget the one-off with Potter. But again, he was unsuccessful. All the videos did was make him realize he had a whole new set of kinks he liked, most of which featuring Potter. It was stupid of him to think it might actually work.

What he didn’t anticipate was the hell-fury that was Hermione Granger. 

He’d expected a howler from her, perhaps, but not for her actual reign of terror to descend upon him the following Saturday afternoon. The loud slam of the shop’s door should have been his first indication that it wouldn’t go well.

“Malfoy, come on out. I know you're back there!”

He dropped his leather shears from the pattern he’d been cutting, swearing down at the large gash marring the once-perfect hide.

He quickly walked away from the project and peered around the corner, observing her from behind the protective barrier of his doorway. He gave her a mild look from behind the wall, eyebrows raised at Granger’s soaked appearance.

“Afternoon. Forget a simple charm with all this rain? How sloppy.”

She glared at him, grounding her hands onto the counter and ignoring the jab.

“What did you do to Harry? He came in for his boots last week and now he has said boots, but he’s lost his trainers, and he’s been in a right mood and won’t answer any of my questions!” she exclaimed hysterically.

He cautiously stepped into the doorway once he was confident she wasn’t going to hex him on sight.

“Will you keep shouting or should I answer?”

“Malfoy!”

“Alright, I have his trainers. The berk stormed off without them when he came for his boots,” he drawled, pulling out the paper bag which contained Potter’s trainers from under the counter.

He slid them across the wood, shrugging lightly while staring at the bag ominously.

“Was going to send an owl if he didn’t turn up; he also forgot to settle the rest of his fees.”

She stared at the bag with a frown and Draco could see her trying to put it together. Then she glared at him again, unappeased.

“What did you say to him?”

Draco raised his hands in surrender, stepping away from the accusation.

“I said nothing. He tried on the boots, we had a polite exchange, and then he left at my request. He was in such a rush to leave, he forgot to pay." It wasn’t a lie, exactly.

She gave him a rude look.

“Draco Malfoy, I don’t believe you.”

His eyebrows raised at the use of his full name.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Granger. That’s what happened. Have you tried just asking Potter?” he carried on, feigning a lack of concern.

She looked frustrated, pushing her flattened wet hair from her face. “Yes, he won’t give me any kind of straight answer. When I tried asking his roommates, they just laughed at me and walked away.”

She clearly wasn’t used to Potter hiding things from her.

The roommates comment gave his pause, though. Why did they laugh? What did they know? Had Potter told them? Were they laughing at him?

“Why would they laugh? Nothing is funny about asking of a friend’s well-being. They clearly know something. You should go interrogate them more,” he said rather helpfully, hoping she would leave.

She nodded, agreeing with him. “That’s what I was thinking. Maybe they pulled a prank on Harry and now he’s upset?” Granger looked at him weakly, knowing she wasn’t on the right track.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“After living in boys’ dorms for eight years, you build up an appreciation for pranks. You take a breather and then retaliate in proper fashion, there's no time for mulling about and being sad,” he drawled, waving a hand in the air thoughtfully. “Gryffindors are far more sensitive than Slytherins, though.”

Granger shook her head in frustration, leaning on the counter and slouching forward in defeat. Draco sighed internally. He was going to have to try harder to get her to leave.

“So, you didn’t say anything cruel like usual?”

“All of my comments are perfectly civil, thank you very much,” Draco claimed diplomatically.  


Granger looked at him in annoyance.

“Malfoy.”

He shook his head, waving a hand at the back room behind him.

“Granger, I don’t know what you want me to say. He walked into the workroom, tried on his boots, had a perfectly civil exchange with me, and then a client walked in so Potter left. That’s all.”

She stared at him with measuring eyes, stepping away from the counter. Then she promptly walked around the counter and headed straight into the back room.

Draco jumped up.

“You can’t go back there!”

“Oh, shut up. It’s just a room with boots in it,” she snapped over her shoulder, standing in front of the velvet chair with her hands on her hips.

Draco nearly walked into her, sidestepping around Granger at the last second. He'd made sure all evidence of his and Potter’s episode had been cleaned away- he’d been checking several times over the last few days just in case Lisette had noticed anything off. But Granger was not Lisette. Granger was worse. 

There was a stiff silence as she looked around, stepping in front of the work bench and analyzing the leather shears and bottles of polish scattered about. His paperwork was all refastened to the pin board and everything looked its usual chaotic mess. It was obviously a work room.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this,” Draco complained, his eyes anxiously scanning the room.

He knew he’d cleaned everything up, but it was still terrifying to have her back here.

She was looking at the floor when she stilled, bending over for something under the workbench. When he saw her pick up the washrag from the pile of leather scraps, Draco’s heart jumped to his throat.

Granger frowned at the odd texture, tentatively leaning in to smell it and gasping loudly. She flung it to the ground and threw an arm up, pointing at him with wide eyes.

“You-!”

Draco just stared back in horror.

“Did you shag? I knew he was obsessing over you after we came in for those boots!” She cried out, far more excited at guessing it correctly than upset over the subject matter.

“Alright, what?” Draco held his hands out in front of him, astounded at her conclusion.

Granger hesitated, lowering her arm and seeming a tad less confident.

“You two shagged?” she said quieter, this time as a question.

Draco glanced at the semen-covered rag that had dried days ago.

“Shag isn’t the term I would use. But yes, there was an… incident.” He ran a hand over his face in exhaustion, forgetting he'd been working with polish earlier that day until he felt the slickness of it on his cheek.

He swore quietly, looking down at his hand to confirm that he'd smudged polish on his face again.

Draco pulled the collar of his shirt to wipe at the smudge on his face as he tried to explain the incident to her, nearly missing Granger's gasp.

“What happened to your neck?”

Draco stilled, forgetting about the bandage and lowering his shirt. There was no point in even bothering to try to hide it at this point.

“He may have bitten me?” Draco offered weakly, giving her a faint look.

Granger covered her mouth with her hand, staring at his neck in eery fascination. He could practically see her piecing it all together in her mind.  


“Alright, so you two shagged, he damaged you-,” she snapped her fingers, giving him a knowing look “-his dorm mates! He must have told them.”

“He better not have!” he said in a shrill tone.

Granger gave him a gentle look to comfort him. He hated it.

“They haven’t told anyone; I wouldn’t have come down here if they did. Harry’s just been acting oddly depressed. Though I suppose if it hadn’t ended happily…?” she inquired, arching a brow at him knowingly.

She was horridly clever and he didn’t appreciate being judged like this.

He glared at her accuracy, nodding. “It did not. I immediately requested he leave following our... conclusions.”

Granger gave him an odd look. “Why? Do you not like him? You two have always been somewhat obsessed with each other.”

Offended, he folded his arms and looked to the ceiling in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m discussing this with you.”

“Me neither, but my best friend is miserable,” she snapped.

After realizing she’d caught him and there was nothing he could do to stop this whole charade aside from play along, Draco sat resolutely on the velvet chair and stared down at his hands. He hadn’t had anyone to talk to about this, and when he wasn’t being miserable at home, the incident had been eating away at him at work. Though, it was comforting to know Potter was also miserable. Even if Draco was the reason for it all.

“He was very charming about it all, I’ll say that,” he said quietly, giving her a weary look.

Granger calmed instantly, giving a small frown and listening intently.

Draco looked down at his stained fingernails, feeling stiff and awkward.

“I’m very grateful that he stepped in during our trial and essentially saved my life. But if I can save him from experiencing the kind of hate I deal with every day, the same kind of hate that would only add to the harassment he already has to put up with, then I am at peace with the choices I’ve made and the way I’ve gone about it.”

Granger stared at him for a few moments before moving forward and standing over him.

“Why can’t you just tell that to him yourself? I’m sure Harry would understand,” she said quietly, understanding in her eyes.  
Draco rolled his eyes. “You really think Potter wouldn’t just say fuck it and ignore everything I said?”

Granger frowned when she realized he was right, sighing. “He is quite impulsive.”

He didn’t feel like telling her exactly how right she was, glancing at the workbench and rubbing his nose delicately with a clean finger.  


“He wouldn’t think it over and then he’d accidentally tell everyone. He’d receive howlers and hate mail and scathing looks in the hallway every day during classes. No one would want to be his partner for anything, and no one would sit with you two at dinner. Not to mention he’d probably deal with it in the Gryffindor common room as well, and I don’t have to tell you about how they feel about my kind,” he listed off in a tired tone. “More significantly, he might lose job prospects from being associated with an acquitted Death Eater after school.”

Granger sighed heavily, looking disappointed. “You’ve thought about this then.”

“Yes, Granger. I’ve thought about this far too much.”

She was silent, glancing over the room and finally the crusty rag on the floor.

"You do like him, don't you? You wouldn't be bothering with all of this if you just wanted a quick shag out of him."

Draco glared unhappily at the wall, acutely aware that he'd been caught.

"Yes, Granger, I do. Thank you for making me say it out loud," he muttered sarcastically.  


She nodded in mild amusement, ignoring his tone and brushing a stray hair behind her ear.

“Alright. I’ll bring his trainers back, then. How much does he owe you?” She motioned to the front of the store and Draco rose from the chair.

He followed her out front, leaning against the counter as she fished out the remaining galleons from her bag to settle the debt. He collected them and put them aside, relieved to move on from the vulnerable topic of feelings. When she turned to go, Granger looked over her shoulder.

“You know I’m going to tell him all of this, don’t you?”

He smiled dryly. “Granger, if you didn’t tell him I’d be concerned for your wellbeing.”

She gave him a small smile before leaving the shop, Potter's trainers in hand.

Draco watched her go past the window, releasing the breath he'd been holding. That hadn’t gone as badly as he would have guessed.  


Now he had to worry about Potter possibly returning and giving him an earful, but he’d been expecting that for the last few days anyway.  


Draco played with the edge of his shirt anxiously, knowing his mother would scold him for pulling the fabric and probably staining it even further. It didn’t matter, all of his clothing had already been ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all kicks off after this ✖‿✖


	9. Chapter 9

The Gryffindor common room was packed. The Saturday rains had ruined anyone's plans for a nice weekend, driving students to homework or card games. 

Harry was curled up by the window, feigning progress on his potions essay and staring outside at the rain. He couldn’t see the Quidditch pitch, but the temptation to go flying in the storm was strong. 

But he didn’t expect a dripping wet Hermione to interrupt his brooding. 

Harry stared in interest as she dropped onto the bench by his feet. She was holding out a soggy paper bag, her hair flattened and looking exasperated. 

“You went outside?” He frowned, taking the bag from her and scrunching his nose at the floppy texture. 

“I had some errands to run.”

Harry sat up when he saw the trainers at the bottom of the soggy bag. He glanced at Hermione hesitantly, the expression of grave judgement giving away that she already knew everything. Harry dropped the bag onto the floor, covering his face with his hands in humiliation.

“What’d he tell you.” 

“Not everything, but I found the crunchy washrag on the floor of his work room. Also, you owe me thirty galleons.” 

“Ah fuck, I’m so sorry Hermione.” He whined.

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t say I’m not surprised. He’s a mess too, by the way.” She fixed her damp jumper primly, looking over the busy common room in bored interest. 

Harry frowned, glaring down at his blank essay in front of him. That didn’t match up. 

“Why? He was the one to reject me! He has no right to be miserable.” 

She gave him a daft look. “Did you stop to think maybe he was looking at the big picture?”

After receiving a confused expression, Hermione turned to Harry and crossed her legs, settling in.

“He said that he wasn’t inclined to subject you to the public hate of being associated with him. His words.” She relayed. 

That did make sense, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Harry shook his head in denial. 

“But that’s my choice isn’t it?” He shot back.

She sighed heavily. “It is, but Harry, you need to think about this. What do you even want to accomplish with this?” She pleaded, putting a hand on his ankle and shaking it. “Do you just want to shag him a few times? Do you want to go after a relationship with Malfoy? Or is this all just a new crush because you’re blinded by a bit of good sex?” She whispered, knowing anyone could overhear their conversation. 

Harry gave her a blank stare, realizing she was right. 

He hadn’t really thought it through. All he’d thought about was how good they had been together and how much he wanted to feel that compatibility again. The sex had been great, but it was their rapport that had him so hopelessly infatuated with Malfoy. He treated Harry like an equal, if just barely. The confidence he had in order to put Harry in his place was refreshing, not to mention terrifically attractive. 

Compared to how Ginny had fawned over him from the start of their relationship, just like a hopeless fan, his interactions with Draco were so much more memorable. Even when he insulted him, he'd captivated Harry with a fascination no one else could compare to. 

“I guess… I just want to see him happy again.” He said honestly, earning a soft look from Hermione.

Harry sat up properly, smiling as he remembered. 

“He dropped all of his walls and the absurd posturing. He was just open and soft and honest. I can't believe that I just described Draco Malfoy as soft, but it’s like he’s like a completely different person. Except still a bit sharp and pointy, that'll never go away. But I do kind of like it." He shrugged nonchalantly, Hermione grinning. 

”I’d never have thought it was possible, since he's such an uptight arsehole all the time, but he really can smile and laugh and be kind.” Harry gushed, thinking about how Malfoy had been so gentle about wiping his eye off with the rag. He could have been rough and annoyed about having to clean Harry up, but he hadn’t been.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile. “Do you care at all that people might be upset?”

He glanced over the common room at their fellow Gryffindor’s, shrugging lazily. 

“Not really, we’re kind of on our own anyway.” Harry said back, Hermione nodding. They really were. 

Ginny hadn’t even considered coming back for her final year and none of their friends had returned to finish their N.E.W.T.s like they had. On top if it, the public was already less than friendly towards them. They saw them as celebrities and war heroes, not people. 

The only ones he’d be worried about was the Weasleys. 

“Do you think Ron would hate me?” He wondered. 

If there was anyone whose opinion mattered, it was Ron. Whether his friend cared if he liked men or not, this was a completely different issue altogether.

He watched Hermione thinking it over, and her resounding shrug was promising. 

“He’s quite good friends with Blaise Zabini now, I don’t see why he couldn’t eventually warm up to Draco too. But we'd have to see.” 

Hearing her use Malfoy’s first name was appreciated, especially since Harry had been trying to think of him as Draco instead of Malfoy. 

“The rest of the Weasley’s would be a bit more difficult, with Fred still being so recent.” She murmured, Harry nodding. If they took to Draco at all, it wouldn’t be any time soon. 

Harry looking out the window, taking all the points into consideration. 

Teddy and Andromeda would be fine with it, they were already related to Draco. And he’d heard Andromeda mention how she was owling with Narcissa regularly, so that was a good indication of easy acceptance towards him in Harry's life. 

Hermione started to spell her clothes clean, someone across the room starting up a game of exploding snap which sent loud popping noises across the room. 

Then Harry remembered the bite mark he’d inflicted on Draco. 

“D-Did you manage to see if his neck was alright?” He blurted, face heating in embarrassment.

She glanced at him in amusement, spelling her trainers clean of mud. 

“There’s a bandage over it, if that’s what you’re asking.” She answered patiently. 

“He’s not in pain?” 

Hermione shook her head and finished up her spells. 

“No, he seems perfectly fine. Aside from being a bit moody once I pressed him about everything, I wouldn’t have assumed anything was wrong. He's really quite good at hiding his emotions.” She leaned back against the stone of the window sill, looking like she was ready to go change out of her dirty clothes. 

Harry nodded slowly, scratching at his arm. “I didn’t mean to do it.” He figured he should answer for why he’d damaged Draco. 

Surprisingly, Hermione grinned. “What, mauling his neck? That is quite impressive.” She laughed privately, Harry feeling his face heat up even further. 

“It wasn’t just me! You should see the scratches he left all over my back.” He complained, not able to help the grin that spread over his face. 

She smirked, pointing up at the dorms. “Is that what Brendan and Quinton were laughing at when I asked them what was wrong with you?” She asked, Harry nodding to confirm it.

“Yeah, they were the first to mention something. It’s impressive Hermione, I didn’t think he had nails like that.” He reached a hand up to the back of his neck. She watched the motion with amusement. 

“Will they scar?” 

Harry frowned and touched the scabs behind his neck.

“I don’t know,” He leaned forward and turned, pulling his shirt collar to the side to show her. She leaned in, seeing the little red marks. 

“They might. Don’t pick at them or they absolutely will.” She warned playfully, far too amused at the whole situation to lecture him properly. 

Harry wouldn’t tell her how he planned to pick at them just because of her idea. He wanted them to scar. Even if it was highly embarrassing, that was private. It was bad enough Quinton and Brendon knew about the marks, but this he wanted to keep for himself for as long as he could. 

“Wait, ‘mione, did he even say if he likes me back?” He asked suddenly, interrupting her as she stood to leave.

Hermione smiled at him over her shoulder. “Yes, Harry. He likes you too.”

She didn’t ask him any more questions, leaving Harry to himself as she went upstairs. 

Her acceptance and mild amusement was comforting. Harry had been stressing over the guilt of not telling Hermione about all of it, but her method of steamrolling past his brooding was a relief. The fact that she was only mildly annoyed was nice too. Sometimes, Harry just really appreciated her tolerance for all his rubbish. At least one of them knew how to handle this. 

He curled up against the window and glanced around the room tiredly, noticing how everything just carried on as if his world hadn’t been flipped. But he was hopeful about Malfoy. Harry finally felt as if there was something he could do to fix what had happened. Now he just had to find a way to get Draco to talk to him. 

\-----------------------

But against Harry’s wishes, life picked up. 

The weather cleared and Quidditch practice went all-out to prepare for the first match of the season. Any free time Harry had was put into training. 

He wasn’t Captain any longer but that didn’t stop Alyssa, the new Gryffindor Captain, into recruiting him as her Second. It made perfect sense when he rejoined for someone else to take command. Alyssa was small and fiery, exactly what the team needed to retake the cup this year. He was tired and just wanted to play Quidditch without anyone expecting miracles from him. 

So, Harry both loved and hated the new Quidditch routine. 

He got to fly and play almost every day, which was perfect. But he had to put on Draco’s boots. They were exquisitely crafted and he didn't have any complaints. Unfortunately, the memories they held just book-ended his practices with further angst and frustration about Draco. 

He’d attempted owling Malfoy the morning after his conversation with Hermione, but he’d received nothing in response. It’d been a civil letter expressing how much he liked the boots and how he would recommend the shop to everyone on his team. 

He wasn’t trying to directly ask Malfoy for another fuck, but he wanted to gauge whereabouts they were in communication terms. Apparently, they weren’t on any terms at all. It made wooing him very difficult. 

So, Harry carried on with classes and Quidditch with a morose air, not sure how to fix things with Draco and having no time to do anything even if he did come up with an idea. 

  

The morning of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match was sunny and beaming, oddly cheerful for late September. Both houses wanted to believe the pleasant weather was a sign in their favor and everyone was on edge. It was the first post-war match and people were eager to have their traditions upheld to come out on top. 

Sitting high in the air above the pitch, Harry felt like this was exactly where he was supposed to be. This was his priority. He just had to focus on the game, then he would have time afterwards to brood and think about how to get Malfoy back. 

As focused as he would like to be on the match, it really wasn't working. But he was trying his best and that's all he could really do. 

Harry scanned over the field with bored practice, seeing the Ravenclaw’s seeker flying low on the pitch. He wasn’t sure how that was going to help, but he also knew that the snitch could be anywhere so he wasn't going to complain. 

As he held his broom a loosely, Harry drifted low over the stands and gazed down at the spectators below. 

He was currently scanning the Slytherin and Hufflepuff stands. A few years ago, Harry had found the snitch hovering under some rafters in the Gryffindor sector. If he didn’t find the snitch overhead in open air, his next strategy was looking in the spectators and the overhead beams of the shelters. The little golden bugger could literally be anywhere, so he wasn't about to judge Ravenclaw's seeker for being down near the ground.

Harry analyzed the graying wooden frames of the Slytherin stand, daydreaming about the possibility of inviting Draco to go flying sometime. He liked flying as much as Harry did, so perhaps that was a safe conversation starter. Harry wasn’t very good at coming up with ideas on how to fix their current situation, so taking inspiration from his surroundings was a good start. 

Maybe it was because Malfoy was on his mind so much, but Harry was pulled out of his daydreaming when he thought he saw a shock of blond hair in the sea of green under him. He hovered over the stand, frowning and staring down into the myriad of colours below, forgetting about the snitch. 

Was Malfoy here? No, it was the middle of the week. He couldn't have been let out of work to go see a Quidditch match. 

It was his own fault for not paying attention. 

The bludger came from out of no where, clipping the underside of his broom with a spectacular crack as it shot from behind him. Harry's broom exploded into a shower of splinters between his legs, tossing him from the impact like a rag doll. 

He attempted to throw his arms over his head as he fell, knowing he had to protect his head as much as possible. 

But the bang of hitting wood ripped a yell out of him, Harry collapsing onto the outer railing of the Slytherin stand. He felt hands attempting to grab him before gravity won out, pulling him over the edge of the stand. 

When it was all over a few seconds later, Harry lay in a barely-conscious daze at the bottom of the Slytherin stand. 

His whole body was lit up in pain, radiating from the middle of his waist. Something felt like it had forced its way into the core of his bones and was churning like a firebrand inside him. 

Someone managed to catch him with a spell before he hit the ground, but it didn’t save him from catching on the wood structure all the way down. 

He probably would have been able to feel those cuts and bruises if it didn't feel like he'd been cut in half. In a vague moment of awareness, Harry didn't think he would be able to walk anymore. 

He couldn't feel his legs beneath all the nauseating pain, a nauseating ache pulsing from the center of his body but nothing lower then that. His back felt abnormally hot and his eyes were swimming against the blue sky. He didn’t even want to try and move his feet, he just hoped he still had feet attached to him.

He couldn't even respond to the people yelling to him, barely conscious from the agony and only just seeing the faces collecting above him. 

He'd tried to groan when McGonagall called his name, knowing he had to respond or they would make him got to St. Mungos. Even through the haze, he knew that would be a nightmare.

“His hip has completely shattered.” 

“There’s a lot of blood, we need to move.” 

“Professor!” 

“Miss Granger, what happened?” 

Too many voices. At least he still had legs, though.

Harry weakly flexed his fingers, relieved to feel no immediate pain from such a simple hand movement. Every time he fell during Quidditch he got flashbacks to fucking Lockhart in second year. He’d take a shattered hip and broken limbs if he didn’t have to deal with bullshit that again. 

He shouted when he was suddenly jostled, someone lifting him up with a spell for transport. His body attempted to weakly curl in on itself before everything went quiet around him. Harry wished he could have thanked whomever had the mercy to put him unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one step forward two steps back


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early post because Infinity War stress is slowly eating me alive~

What a fucking mess. 

Draco stormed up the muddy hill to Hogwarts, the Quidditch game carrying on behind him as Gryffindor’s spare seeker took over for Potter. 

He’d seen people fall before, Hell, he’d fallen from that height himself. But seeing Potter’s limp body smash into the railing from twenty feet away was a new kind of nightmare. 

The crowd of professors toting Potter up to the hospital wing were already far ahead of him, Draco slowly climbing up the muddy hill, feeling impossibly stressed for someone who had already been chronically stressed for weeks. Clearly, he was concerned for Potter’s welfare. He couldn't pretend that wasn't real. But what if someone recognized him and demanded he leave? Draco wasn’t even sure he was allowed within the castle. 

When he'd shown up for the match he'd been anxious for what would come from his appearance. But the Slytherin stand had honestly been alright, he'd only earned a few odd looks from the new first years who didn’t recognize him. The older students strangely seemed to warm to his presence. It was the first time Draco had regretted not going back Hogwarts. He’d thought his whole house would have turned him out, but after talking to some of them before the game, he realized a large majority of the house had banded together in times of duress. Apparently, Slytherin hadn’t been doing too well in the eyes of the world. 

The few students whose parents had been involved like Draco's had been oddly eager to speak with him for advice. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had much to give, other than to keep their friends close and their heads down until the brunt of the war passed. 

But rather than be inspired by the younger generation of his house, Draco was filled with anxious fury for Potter.

He’d been really excited for the first game of the year, to get out of the shop and do something different for once. Something to distract him from the anxiety that had taken over his life. When he realized Gryffindor was playing it was only vaguely distressing, so he’d been alternating from watching Potter and watching the goal posts. It had been somewhat working. 

Then someone had screamed and a body was dropping onto their stand. 

When he’d recognized the bulky frame and black hair he knew it was Potter. Draco tried yelling at the first years to grab him but Potter had already dropped off the side. 

That was when he jumped up to rush down the stairs, intimately familiar with the process of someone falling. 

It was awful whenever someone fell during a match, but it happened two or three times every season without fail. There was a reason it was a dangerous game, people always seemed to forget that.

But it was so fucking stupid that Potter had to be the first one of the season. The idiot was supposed to be somewhat competent at Quidditch.

By the time he’d reached the pitch they’d already cleared everything away. Draco stood in silence as the game carried on overhead, staring at the splatters of blood on the sand where Potter had dropped. He didn't doubt himself for a second when he spun around and headed straight for the infirmary. 

Currently, he was storming up the steps to the Hospital Wing, slowing his speed once hearing people collected in front of the Hospital Wing’s doors. Draco paused, suddenly aware that they could potentially just not let him in. 

How was he supposed to explain that they’d had a mistaken shag and now he was horridly invested in Potter’s welfare? No one would believe that.

He rounded the steps, seeing several of his former Professors standing outside the door and talking amongst themselves. As he hesitantly approached, they turned, a complex series of expressions varying on all of them. A few were friendly, most were hostile. 

Professor Sprout was the first to collect herself. “Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing here?” She wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but her civil tone was appreciated. 

“I saw Potter fall.” He answered weakly, posture not nearly as confident as he would have liked. 

“What’s it to you? You two never got on.” The Professor who said it was new, young with long brown hair and a sharp jaw. He looked vaguely familiar, but Draco couldn’t place him. 

He hesitated, glancing at the large doors of the hospital wing and stepping back at the defensive question. 

“We’ve been speaking recently.” He decided. 

Sprout quickly took control of the situation, waving at him to come forward. 

“If you’ve gotten over the childhood rivalry its good enough for me, I know you’re doing good for yourself down in Hogsmeade. He’d got a shattered hip and a broken femur. Harry’s out for now but Poppy’s sealed up his wounds.” She steamrolled over any of the Professors who would have objected, ignoring the outcries of her colleagues and shuffling Draco through the doors against their wishes. 

"Do try not to cause a fuss though, for posterity's sake."

He’d never given much care for Sprout before, but he wondered if she’d always cared this much. 

Draco smiled politely and thanked her before walking down the line of beds, noticing a surprisingly small amount of people surrounding the bed closest to Madam Pomfrey’s office. A privacy sheet blocked the area off from prying eyes. 

He hesitated as he approached, hearing McGonagall and Granger discussing Potter’s condition. If it was just some broken bones he’d be alright, a night of skele-grow and it’d be easily fixed. Draco had gone through the same in the past. Surely there was nothing to worry about. But Granger sounded frustrated, Draco seeing her sitting in the visitor chair next to Potter's bed. 

“He’s been overworking himself and I might have been a driving force behind it. With Quidditch practice taking over all his spare time and the homework having accumulated for N.E.W.T.s prep, he hasn’t had much time to himself at all.” The sound of distraught was clear in her tone.

So, if he’d been waiting for Potter to show up to the shop and confront him that would explain why he hadn't. But a measly letter being complimentary about his boots was just hurtful. Lisette had loved the dreadful thing, even framing and hanging it over the shop's counter as if it were some sort of review. 

Draco had known Potter’s letter was an olive branch of sorts, but he hadn’t expected Potter to just.... stop trying.

However, if he was overworked and burnt out that would also explain why he'd been distracted during the match. 

Draco peered from around the curtain, breathing in sharply when he saw Potter's prone form. 

The idiot was bandaged from head to toe. His clothes had been stripped away and he was covered with a modesty sheet from the waist down. There were bandages wrapping around one arm and healing salves place over random spots on his chest, possibly where he'd been cut on the way down from the stand. The skin that was exposed was bright red and swollen from all the irritation and chafing his injuries caused. He looked a god awful mess.

“Draco!” Granger stood when seeing him, Malfoy glancing at her and approaching with more confidence. 

“What the fuck did he do, Granger.” He seethed, fury kicking up once he got an eyeful of Potter's wrecked form. 

McGonagall reared up at the language. “Mr. Malfoy!” 

“Sorry, Professor. But you can't exactly _disagree_." 

She merely raised her eyebrows, but did not object.

“I think he’s just tired and didn’t see it coming.” Granger interrupted, placing a hand next to Potter on the bed. 

Draco stepped to the foot of the cot, fingers wrapping around the railing as he stared furiously at his prone form.

“Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing here? I did not think Madam Sterling would let you out from work for a Quidditch match.” McGonagall politely inquired, Draco not bothering to look at the all-too-knowing professor. 

“She thinks I need to get out more.” He muttered, eyes staring intensely at Potter’s bruised collarbones.

__

He looked swollen and red all over. With the amount of pain he would probably be going through if he was conscious, Draco knew putting him under was the truly merciful option. 

__

“I suppose that is a suitable reason. Should I ask about your newfound concern for Mr. Potter?” She asked in an amused tone, Granger shifting a bit awkwardly. 

__

“Maybe later, Professor.” She deflected. 

__

Draco avoided looking at the old witch as much as he could, instead searching around for a chair. He didn’t intend on leaving anytime soon. He managed to drag one from the bed across the aisle, sitting across from Granger on Potter’s other side and facing the big idiot. When McGonagall finally left after twenty odd minutes it was a far less awkward in the room, mostly because he didn’t feel like he was being watched or had to answer for his concern for Potter. 

__

Granger was somberly watching over Potter with him, looking exhausted from the quick evacuation from the pitch.

__

He wasn’t afraid of her any longer. She already knew everything about what had happened. Right now, Granger was his only companion in this mess. 

__

He glanced around for any other witnesses before standing, moving closer to Potter’s bed and lifting a hand to gently push the hair back from his forehead. There was no point in pretending around Granger anymore. If Potter were to go and get himself smashed up, Draco might as well be honest with himself.

__

“You said he’s been burning himself out?” He asked softly, glancing to her in concern. 

She was watching him calmly, not showing any signs of discomfort at him touching Potter so intimately.

__

“They’ve been pushing Quidditch practices every day to catch up for the season. And since that’s been taking up everyone’s time, Harry’s been stressing over schoolwork. He's been really set on doing well in his N.E.W.T.s. He really wanted to come see you but he hasn’t had a moment of free time” She said quietly, giving Draco a knowing look. 

__

Draco scowled, removing his hand from Potter’s hair at the memory. 

“He sent the shop a letter, but all it mentioned was how much he liked the boots and then something about referrals to the rest of his team. Lisette framed it and put it on the bloody wall.” He rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

Granger smiled gently at Potter's mishap, looking like she was trying not to laugh.

__

He leaned against the cot, letting his eyes scroll over Potter’s battered body up close. After cataloging the major wounds he checked the potions bottles lining the bedside table, noting the familiar set of potions for broken bones and wounding. When he didn't see any potions for blood regeneration he wondered about the spatters of blood he'd seen on the sand, glancing back to Potter for bloodied bandages. 

“He was bleeding before, wasn’t he?” He asked Granger, who nodded and stood up. 

“It's on his back. Madam Pomfrey fixed that first thing so he could lay face up. Luckily it was only skin deep, didn't touch his spine.” She leaned over Potter and motioned to the shoulder nearest to Draco. 

He stepped in closer, leaning down over Potter’s shoulder. It was difficult to see, but a large padded bandage covered the center of his back. Draco attentively glanced over Potter's corded shoulders, stilling when he noticed the tiny half-moon scars littering his neck and back. Draco glanced down at his hands and then at Potter’s marks again, hesitant. He hadn’t realized he’d drawn blood on Potter. He wasn't sure how he felt, knowing they’d both marked each other so intimately like that.

__

Draco sat back down in his chair, staring at Potter in suspicion. 

__

His own mark hadn’t healed at all like he wanted. 

__

The bruises had somewhat healed, turning into a sickly off-yellow. But the cuts were taking too long to heal. Draco had continued to apply the muggle ointment and clean bandages since there was nothing else he could do, but they still remained. He was absolutely sure they weren't infected, but the length of time it was taking for them to heal concerned him. He probably should go see Pomfrey about it, now that he was here. But seeing Potter’s marks made him feel a little less anxious about his own and distracted him. He thought he’d been the only one cursed with evidence of the whole incident. They were his punishment for rejecting Potter so cruelly.

While he was busy agonizing over his injury Granger had stood and began fussing with Potter’s blankets. Draco watched her in a daze, his chest feeling tight like something was twisting inside his rib cage. 

__

“Why aren’t you telling me to stay away from him?” He broke the silence. 

__

She stopped, looking at Draco in surprise. “Stay away from him? He’s the one who's chasing after you.” 

__

Draco looked at Potter’s still form again, pent up and frustrated after holding in everything for so long.

__

“You haven’t yelled at me for being involved with him. At the shop, you even seemed completely fine with finding out about us. Now I’ve shown up after he got hurt and you’re not only tolerating me, but you're defending me. I don’t understand. You hated me, Granger. What that fuck changed that because I can’t think of a solid reason why you shouldn’t hate me after everything I've done.”

__

She stared at him silently from across Potter's sleeping body, waiting for him to finish before pursing her lips and glancing down to her friend.

“I did hate you, for quite a long time.” She whispered honestly, Draco gritting his teeth at the confession. 

__

“But then there were funerals, and obituaries, and I had to go across the world to find my parents. When I came back to England, Harry was so broken it was like he was walking corpse. That’s what the trauma and stress had done to him after a lifetime of horrors. So instead of sitting there and being upset and depressed and angry at everything, I refused to let it ruin our lives any more than it already had.” 

__

He watched her, unsettled from the inspiration speech she was giving. She shrugged tiredly, Granger pushing her hair over her shoulder and looking at Draco defensively. 

__

“I remembered how you didn’t give Harry up that day at the manor. Even when he directly asked you if it was Harry, you said no. We got caught, but you never gave him up. We all did things we regretted. But it’s been months now and I’m sick of being angry and afraid. It’s over and I just want to move on with my life. You haven’t been discriminatory or a complete prick to me since we got back to Hogwarts, so I’m over it. I just don't care anymore.”

__

Draco stared down at his hands. Clearly Granger had her priorities in order and had no intention on entertaining his bullshit. 

__

She waved at hand at Potter, propping a hand on her hip and shaking her head. 

__

“And Harry’s suddenly decided that you’re the one for him so I’ll get used to it. He’s already been obsessed with you for eight years, I shouldn’t even be that surprised. You clearly care about him too, showing up here after everything. If that isn’t a sign that you are in fact human, than I don't know what to say. Now, do you have any problems with me I should know about?”

__

He didn’t expect her to turn on him to speak, Draco sitting up anxiously when it was his turn. 

__

“No, but I am sorry, though. For everything.” He whispered, glancing at Potter as if to beg him to wake up. This was awkward, like his apology to Potter had been those weeks ago in the shop. Necessary, but awkward. All of his vulnerabilities were laid bare for her to see. 

__

“And I am a tad fond of him, I suppose.” He muttered, picking at the inseam of his trousers. 

__

She smiled gently, reaching for her chair. 

__

“Thank you, Draco. I appreciate it.”

__

He stared at her, wondering if there really was nothing else to it. After a moment he gave her a strained smile, forcing it out of himself and slouching backwards into his chair, looking back at Potter. This was too much emotional exertion for one day.

__

Granger seemed to take the silence as a sign, settling back into her own chair and carrying on with watching over Potter. She thankfully left him alone after that, settling into a comfortable silence.

__

There was nothing they could do but wait until Potter’s bones healed and he woke up. 

__

After several hours Professor McGonagall returned to speak with Madam Pomfrey about Potter's progress and relay news of the Quidditch game. The match had ended long ago, Ravenclaw winning twenty minutes after Potter had dropped. After she left with the unfortunate news Granger summoned some textbooks and started on readings for class. Draco just closed his eyes and tried to pass the time. 

__

It was strangely peaceful in the hospital wing. He'd missed Hogwarts and it's archaic safety. It was easy to relax here and forget why Draco had been so stressed the last few weeks. Even if the cause for his stress was battered and bruised on a cot in front of him. 

__

He opened his eyes and looked to Potter again, sighing internally. He was glad the lug was okay. It was a good thing Draco had gone to the match or he wouldn’t have known about the fall. He probably would have just carried on his life and just been miserable for weeks on end. He hated that the fool got hurt, but he was relieved he'd been there to see it. Still, the image of his falling body was still going to haunt him for weeks. 

__

Even Granger being here across from him was alright. Draco no longer felt anxious about whether she was pretending to like him or not. It was the best their situation was going to get while Potter remained unconscious. 

Eventually, they were brought dinner which consisted of roast and potatoes by a few house elves, both eating quietly while Potter continued to sleep in front of them.

__

By the time Granger stood to go back to her common room it was quite late and Pomfrey had come out several times to check on Potter’s progression. Draco remained slouched in his chair, pulling his thin sweater around him from the chill of the Hospital Wing. In a pitying move, Pomfrey offered for Draco a bed since Potter was the only one in the wing overnight. Since he didn’t work till the afternoon the next day and walking all the way back to his flat would take forever, Draco remained in his chair, politely saying thank you and ignoring the weary looks she gave him. 

__

He just stayed there. 

__

When Pomfrey retired for the evening it was verging on midnight and Draco was weary. He was cold and exhausted, having memorized every little scratch or mark he could see on Potter’s body after staring at him for hours on end. Distraught wasn't enough to describe his mental state. He'd been distressed at first once entering the Hospital Wing, but now it had settled into a chronic state of worry and panic.

Potter just looked so deathly ill under the cold darkness. Even the lamplight from his night table didn’t help how sickly he looked. 

Draco logically knew he was alright and there was nothing to worry about, it was just time that they needed for him to heal. But it was hard not to be worried. It was hard to pretend he didn't care. It was hard to face Potter when he'd been trying to convince himself that he didn't care.

He’d been trying not to panic about how he was staying here, especially since he’d told the prick to fuck off. Draco was the one to reject him, but here he was. He could have gone home hours ago. Potter would still end up fine if he wasn’t here. But he couldn't do it. Draco just couldn't make himself leave knowing Potter was laying here alone, beaten and battered.

Eventually he just got up and stood over him, staring down the the big lug and sighing heavily. He pushed back some of the thick black hair back again, annoyed at how charmed he was at seeing it unstyled. He silently tugged at Potter's sheet like Granger had hours ago, folding his arms tensely after fussing with him for several minutes while not knowing what to do with himself. 

He stared down at Potter's stupid stubble, sitting delicately on the edge of the cot with his hands held tightly against himself. He wanted to reach out and touch him, to hold his hand or touch his arm or-or do something. But Potter was unconscious and he had no right to do any of those things. He wasn't his boyfriend or partner, he wasn't even friends with him. He had no right to sit here worrying when he was the cause of all their problems.

__

He looked at Potter's hands resting limp on his stomach, the bandages wrapped around his sculpted torso peaking out from under the sheet. Before standing, he glanced around for any witnesses, the infirmary remaining deathly silent and cavern like around them. 

Draco carefully reached out and squeezed Potter's hand, knowing he wouldn't be able feel it, mostly doing it for himself. Potter's hands were warm but they had no strength under them, nothing like when he'd lifted Draco up onto the workbench weeks ago. Now they were limp and swollen beneath the bandages, impossibly hot under Draco's fingers.

__

He stood and walked across the room to the empty cot Pomfrey had offered him, telling himself if he didn't do it now then he would just sit there and stare at Potter all night. He lay down on the sheets, pulling the wool blanket she’s left for him around his shoulders and closing his eyes. His body ached from sitting in that chair all afternoon. Granger had transfigured her own at the beginning, but he hadn’t had the heart to ask if she could do his as well. Not after he'd harassed her into that awkward conversation before.

__

He smelt the clinical disinfectant used to sanitize the room, the wool blanket reeking oddly of animal fur. He even thought he could hear Potter's breathing from across the room. An owl hooted gently from outside the window above him.

__

It was so quiet. For the first time in weeks, Draco felt like he could maybe start to relax.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angsty Draco is angsty


	11. Chapter 11

Madam Pomfrey woke Draco the next morning with tea and a warning of Ron Weasley's approach. 

After staring up at the vaulted ceilings for a few minutes, thinking about how he'd actually stayed the night for Potter, Draco slowly made his way back over to his chair with the wool blanket around his shoulders and tea in hand.

Pomfrey checked at Potter’s bandages while Draco quietly watched, humming some song from the radio under her breath and seeming to not mind his presence nearly as much today. It was comforting to have a matriarchal woman around. His mother used to be like this too, attentive and strong. Now she was far more subdued and desolate. 

Draco sipped his tea, politely looking away when Pomfrey removed the bandages around Potter’s lower body to check at his bone reconstruction. He was fairly aware of how devastating Potter’s physique was, he didn’t want to pray on him while he was bedridden and hospitalized. 

“Don’t see too many students this fit these days.” She said quietly, Draco raising his eyebrows scandalously at the older woman. She smiled slimly, shaking her head at the implication. 

“Not like that, dear. It’s just nice to see one of my students who cares about their health, especially Mr. Potter. Heaven forbid, he needed it years ago.” She pulled the blankets back up to his chest, tucking the old bandages into a basket at her feet. 

Draco nodded slowly, understanding what she meant. 

“You could use to eat a bit more too, Draco.” She said in that familiar tone, Draco glancing at her faintly. 

“Didn’t know you’d taken up mothering Death Eaters.” 

She gave him a warning look, collecting her basket. “Ex-Death Eater. You wouldn’t be sitting here looking so miserable about him if you actually were some big scary murderer. Don't push us all away, Mr. Malfoy, you still have friends here.” 

He glanced up at her, surprised by her words. She hadn’t shown much warmth towards him last night, but to be fair, he wasn’t the most kindly towards anyone at the moment. Draco was still on guard, expecting someone to show up and toss him out onto the front steps. 

“Thank you, Poppy.” He whispered, pulling his tea cup closer. 

She nodded briskly and turned, moving on with her day.

Once she was gone, Draco stood and approached Potter's cot again. He sat on the edge of the mattress, wanting to inspect him under the sunlight and see how he had changed compared to yesterday when his wounds were fresh. Potter looked much better this morning. 

Yesterday he'd definitely been alive, but now the swelling around Potter's collarbones and face had gone down. He no longer had dark red blotching all over his body from the injuries and his skin had returned to its familiar tone. Draco's eyes flicked over the bandage changes Pomfrey had done, the sutures and small scratches scattered around his torso neatly healed up, albeit with a few new scars here and there. The gauze was only wrapped around his waist and stomach now, no longer on his arms and neck since his smaller wounds had healed. Magic was brilliant sometimes.

For a small moment, Draco let himself admire Potter's physique since the Gryffindor was in infinitely better shape then yesterday. Draco admired the dark stubble that had come in over night, growing over his neck and jaw far more impressively than Draco's did. He rarely had to shave, himself. He hadn't even known Potter had thick enough facial hair that required him to shave every day. Draco had seen it, and even felt it, but before now he'd never actually known how thick it came in. It was an intimate detail about Potter that made him feel shamefully hot and bothered. 

After getting a closer look at the improvement of Potter's health and his manly stubble, Draco slunk back to his chair to enjoy his tea and pretend like he hadn't been leering at Potter while he lay prone in a hospital bed.

He managed it for about an hour or so before the Hospital Wing exploded in noise. Draco looked over his shoulder weakly at the sounds, his tea gone cold long ago. 

As Pomfrey had warned him, Weasley had arrived. And he didn’t sound very happy either. 

Draco shrunk deep into his chair as they approached, vividly aware that he didn’t have a wand and Weasley was now in the Aurors. He glanced to Potter in distress, wondering if he could wake up and distract Weasley long enough so he could escape. 

“Ron, please calm down, Harry’s fine.” 

Oh, thank Merlin, someone who didn’t utterly hate his guts. 

“Well, he’s not fine if he's been here overnight, why didn't anyone bother to tell me about this yesterday!” 

When Weasley rounded the privacy sheet and saw Malfoy hunched over in a blanket with his cup of tea, the responding silence was terrifyingly awkward. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?!” Weasley cried in a spectacularly high-pitched tone, Granger grabbing his hands and stepping between them. 

“Ron!”

Draco's immediate impression was Weasley was wearing an Auror-in-Training uniform. Horrendously, the dark mauve complimented his obnoxious red hair. It was certainly strange seeing the Weasel in proper clothes that fit him and accentuated his looks, but Draco would never say that out loud. He had no way of protecting himself and he was somewhat invested in Potter, so making nice and being silent was probably in his best interests. 

Draco chose to stay quiet, though, slowly inching his chair closer to Potter as if the Gryffindor's unconscious body was somehow supposed to protect him. 

“They’re friends now. Malfoy made Harry’s Quidditch boots and they got to talking. Can you calm down please, Madam Pomfrey will have your head if you keep yelling.” Granger scolded.

Draco noticed how pleasant it was to not be at the end of her glare for once. 

Weasley just frowned at her, looking to his bedridden friend and waving her off. “Whatever, is Harry alright?” He moved around the opposite side of Draco, frowning down at Potter and trying to understand what had happened. 

Draco remained still, feeling like if he moved then Weasley might lash out at again. 

“And is he alright with Malfoy so close to him?” Weasley added with a nasty glare. 

Malfoy gave him a daft look in response. If only he knew. 

Granger stood at the foot of the bed, clearly irritated with Weasley's reactions. 

“He’s been with Harry all night, I think he's fine.” She responded sarcastically in his defense, Draco glaring at her for revealing his shame. When hearing that Draco had been there all night, Weasley turned to rear on him again. 

“Why're you after Harry? Is there something you’re trying to pull on him?” He demanded, voice beginning to raise again. 

That Weasley temper hadn’t been dampened since joining the force, then. How unfortunate.

Draco pushed some hair behind his ear modestly, eyebrows raised. 

“I can honestly say he was the one doing the pulling.” He managed to respond politely, Granger smiling in amusement.

“There’s authentically nothing going on with Malfoy. Harry can explain later when he wakes up, so please calm down.”

She just suggested that Potter would be telling Weasley. Tell him what? That they’d had a quick fuck and now they were broken up? Pining from afar? Vaguely interested but too cowardly to do anything? Draco didn’t even know how to define it himself and he'd been the one sitting here for hours on end staring at him! 

She gave him a faint look once noticing his alarm, carrying on. 

“Harry’s perfectly safe and Draco is harmless.” 

Weasley remained rigid, folding his arms over his chest with a final glare at Draco before looking down at Potter. 

The fucker still hadn’t moved, even with all the yelling. It was almost impressive. 

For the next hour, Weasley started up a conversation about Aurors training with Granger. He seemed set on ignoring Draco’s presence if he was going to stay. Which was fine with Draco, he didn’t want to interact with Weasley either. But after an hour of listening to Weasley’s bragging about the Aurors, Pomfrey finally returned and announced Potter was fit enough to be conscious. If he was fine after her questioning and examinations, he'd be free to go. 

Draco slowly began to tense up after realizing Potter would be conscious and might notice him there. But before he could leave or decide on what to do, Pomfrey had already began the process. 

She lightly tapped her wand against Potter's temple and the effects began to slough off, everyone holding their breath.

Potter gradually woke up over several minutes. His breathing became heavier with live and his fingers began to curl from new feeling, his head rolling against the pillow lazily. His feet slid gently under the blankets as he came back to consciousness, all these full body movements seeming so sudden and loud compared to the stillness he'd had since the previous day.

It was kind of beautiful, Draco thought, watching Potter wake up from a deep sleep. How many people could say they had witnessed this before? 

Potter breathed in loudly and finally opened his eyes, head turned to the side so he saw Draco first. Draco, in return, held his breath in mild panic.

“Hi.” Potter mumbled against the pillow. 

Draco watched as he achingly reached out from the bed, oddly touched as Potter's fingers wiggled in silent request for his hand. 

It was so harmless and innocent, asking to hold his hand after waking up. Draco didn't know what to expect when Potter woke up, but it definitely hadn't been this. Draco shakily lifted his own and let Potter twine their fingers together, overwhelmed with affection for the git. 

He was glad he was okay. But It was a scene that hurt Draco deep down. He would probably never have the privilege to see this again.

Potter became more coherent in his movements, his fingers squeezing Draco's tighter the more he woke. He'd closed his eyes again, shifting against the uncomfortable Hospital sheets and tugging Draco’s hand for his attention. 

“Why’d you put your clothes back on, we still got time before class starts to get another in.” 

And like that, the spell was broken. 

Draco dropped his hand like it was on fire, shoving his chair back with a loud screech and threw his hands in the air. All feelings of affection were replaced with new horror, looking to Granger in panic for some kind of help. 

But Granger was gleefully grinning at the scene, having no intention on helping anyone.

Weasley, contrarily, looked like he was going to explode from embarrassment, loudly clearing his throat. 

“Harry, mate, we’re all here.” He announced awkwardly, trying to get his attention. 

Potter turned his head and noticed Weasley, then slowly looked around as if not believing he was awake. He seemed hesitant to speak, delicately pulling his hand back from where it had been reaching out towards Draco. Potter timidly looked back to Malfoy, glancing over him in disbelief while Draco stared back with wide eyes. 

“This isn’t a dream, is it.” Potter glanced around, the responding shaking of heads answering his question. 

Pomfrey thankfully took over the situation, shooing a distressed Weasley aside to ask Potter her routine questions. 

“What is the last thing you remember, Mr. Potter?” 

“I was flying and then I-I wasn’t.” He frowned, lifting his hands in front of him to look for any damage as he remembered the fall. 

Draco watched as Potter cringed from the movement, shifting his ridiculous torso into a more comfortable position.

“Merlin, I’m stiff.” Potter complained, rubbing his side weakly. 

“That happens when you fall onto the stands from three hundred feet, Mr. Potter.” Pomfrey explained, not having time for this. “Is there any immediate pain I need to know about? How is your hip?”

Potter merely shrugged in response, looking to the night stand for his glasses. 

“No, nothing extreme, just some overall aching. Does that mean I fell on my hip?” He asked carefully, pulling on his glasses. 

Draco felt like he should be the one to answer that question, chiming in. 

“You hit the railing on the Slytherin stand. We tried to grab you before you fell, but it all happened so quickly that we couldn't do anything.” He supplied, Potter glancing over to him, still surprised to see him there. Draco vaguely noticed Weasley frowning across him, Granger also perking up at the new information. 

“You tried to catch me?” 

“Obviously not, Potter. The first years tried to while I yelled at them.” Draco rolled his eyes, situating the blanket around himself primly to avoid Potter’s gaze. 

Pomfrey gave a sound of mild interest before moving on with her routine. She picked up a few bottles from the night stand. 

“Your broom shattered under you and gave you quite a few nasty scars. I wish you the best of luck with all the ones in private places.” She lectured, Potter giving her a look of alarm. 

Draco glanced at the blanket covering Potter's waist, eyebrows raised. 

“There was a laceration on your back from the beams that caught you on the way down. In terms of fractures, you shattered your right hip as well as your left femur. Luckily you were fine below the knee, those boots you had on had some impressive protection runes.” She patted Potter’s foot, Draco straightening up in pride at the mention of his boots. 

After glancing to Draco at the mention of his boots, Potter stared down at himself in surprise at the grave amount of damage he’d gone through. 

“No head trauma, though?” Draco asked vaguely, still giving Potter a weary look. Potter glared back at him. 

“No, thankfully. Right as rain. Though I’d be careful what you say first thing you wake up, in the future.” She advised mildly, mentioning the mishap from before. 

Draco shifted uncomfortably, Potter at least having the decency to look embarrassed.

“What happened? Why’d you even get hit?” Weasley chimed in, not wanting to return to the awkward topic. 

No one seemed to have an answer, all looking to Potter in the bed. Potter was frowning, still staring at Draco as if he had the answer. No matter how much Draco ignored the looks, Potter kept staring at him like he was the answer to all his questions.

“I saw Malfoy.” He answered after a minute of thinking, fingers playing with the blankets covering his waist. “Or, I thought I saw him. Distracted me, I guess.” 

Draco pursed his lips and glared down at his feet. So, it was his fault. 

“With hair like that you could spot him from a mile away.” Weasley said unhelpfully, Granger lightly smacking his arm. 

Potter said nothing as Pomfrey moved on to explain his potion regimen for the next few days. He was permitted to return to Quidditch practice after two weeks and was not to do any strenuous activities for at least three days.

The look Pomfrey gave Draco when she said strenuous activities was utterly humiliating. He wanted to disappear by this point. Potter was fine and Draco had to go back to work in a few hours. It would be perfectly acceptable for him to leave now. In addition, he was astonished Weasley hadn’t managed to hex him yet.

When Madam Pomfrey walked away with the announcement that Potter was free to go, the four of them were left alone. Draco quickly stood and put down his tea cup. He folded his blanket while the three of them watched him, placing it on the chair. 

“Now that the humiliation is over, I bid you all good day.” He said stiffly, Granger giving him a disappointed look but not moving to stop him.

Potter had tried to sit up and call for him, still restricted to his hospital bed, but Draco was already walking away. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know he’d been there in the first place, but now they'd all witnessed his feelings for Potter first hand. It couldn't get worse then that. 

On top of it, Potter made a pass at him in front of Madam fucking Pomfrey. 

If that didn’t announce to the world what had happened, he didn't know what else would.

He hadn't expected anyone to try and stop him, aside from Potter's attempt at yelling at him, but while he stalked down the Hospital Wing steps with no one running after him, Draco just hunched in further on himself in disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /screams about my useless children who cant communicate


	12. Chapter 12

What an awful way to wake up.

Everything had been perfect. Harry had been holding Draco’s hand and they'd been dozing before class after sleepy morning sex. It was everything he'd wanted.

Then, as if drenched by a bucket of water, he was awake and the dream was gone.

Harry was instantaneously overwhelmed by his friends staring down and surrounding him while Madam Pomfrey questioned him about the Quidditch accident, all with the vivid knowledge of Malfoy located somewhere nearby out of reach.

After realizing he’d been in a Quidditch accident and just spent the night in the Hospital Wing, Harry felt pretty embarrassed.

And he knew he’d said something to Draco when he woke up, but all he got was outright fear and fury from the blond git in return. It also didn’t help that Ron probably knew about everything now too. Harry had really wanted to tell Ron himself; it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

By the time Harry had gotten a breakdown of what happened and a list of his former injuries, Draco was standing to leave. Harry tried to call for him, confused at why he'd been there in the first place, but desperately wanting to keep him from leaving so quickly. However, moving too quickly after just healing gave Harry a cramp in his side, and was forced to shakily lay back down onto the bed in pain.  


After a few moments of awkward silence while Harry tried to relax his muscles, curled painfully on his side, Ron sat down in the free chair next to the bed. Harry tugged weakly at his blankets and stared at the nightstand morosely, upset that Malfoy had fled so quickly.

“So… you like Malfoy?” Ron asked carefully.

Hermione was in the background, folding a small pile of clothes she’d brought for Harry and not bothering to get involved. She knew what this was about.

Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

“Yeah. Don’t think he likes me too much now, though,” he mumbled, Ron giving him a strained look.

“I dunno. ‘Mione said he’s been here all night. And before you said that bit about getting naked, he really seemed to like the hand holding. As horrifying as that was.”

Harry hesitated, trying to process the information Ron had just given him. If Malfoy had been there all night, it meant he’d definitely been at the match yesterday. Or, someone had owled him? No, Hermione wasn't that forward. He had to have been at the match- he'd mentioned something about that before.

So, Harry really had fucked up over being an idiot when he thought he'd spotted him in the stands. _A lovesick idiot_ , Hermione would probably correct him. But that meant Malfoy had definitely been there and had seen him fall, just like he'd mentioned about trying to catch him. Harry was having a hard time remembering what happened right after he woke up, it was all a bit foggy.

But that had to mean something, if Malfoy had stayed all night in the Hospital Wing with Harry.

He feebly rubbed at his shoulder, the small indented scars from Malfoy’s nails running under his fingers. Harry achingly looked over his shoulder, noticing Hermione occupying herself by cleaning lint off his clothes.

“Did Pomfrey get a look at his neck?”

She paused her fussing, looking over at him as if she hadn’t thought of that.

“I don’t actually know. Give me a moment to ask.” She turned and went in search of Pomfrey, Harry noticing Ron’s confused look at the conversation.

“So-” Harry pushed himself up slowly, sitting back against the metal bed frame and tugging his blankets up around his arms for warmth.  


Ron folded his arms and regarded him, ready for whatever Harry was preparing to tell him. Harry still hesitated though. It was important Ron know. He was his best friend. It would be fine. And if it wasn't fine, well. Harry was getting good at being sad.

“Malfoy and I shagged,” he started, Ron jerking back in horror.

“That's a big leap from just liking him, Harry! What the bloody hell, how’d that happen?!”

Harry shrugged harmlessly, trying not to worry too much about his outburst of emotion.

“I don’t really know. He got pretty fit over the summer and when we went into the Quidditch Boots' shop he was there, working. A few weeks later I went to pick up the boots and it just… I don’t know, it just happened,” he said quietly, not feeling very enthusiastic.

Ron held a hand over his mouth, trying to comprehend it.

“So, you breaking up with Ginny this summer…?”

Harry groaned, shaking his head.

“God, Ron, no. That was a mess because we were both depressed and we weren't very keen on each other after so many months apart. It was never a promising idea in the start anyway.” Harry gave him a pleading look. “This has nothing to do with that.”

Ron nodded slowly, seeming to accept that. He shoved his hands in his purple Auror's trousers, setting his shoulders back.

“So, was it just a shag then? ‘Cause I think he might want more,” he said in an uneasy tone, nodding in the direction Malfoy had fled.  


Clearly Ron wasn’t comfortable with the exchange, but he was trying. It was comforting, compared to the anxiety Harry had felt about the impending conversation. Didn't really help his situation with Malfoy, though.

Harry shook his head, scoffing at the cruelty of it all.

“No, afterwards he kicked me out. Called the whole thing bullshit and said he didn’t have time for it. But Hermione went and talked to him a while after, and apparently, he said all that shite because he didn’t want me to get brought into all the...” Harry waved a hand at Ron’s uniform, “you know, rubbish associated with former Death Eaters.”

Ron nodded, eyebrows raised and understanding very well.

“He’s got a point, mate. He’s always been a bit of a monster and now the public get to see that too.”  


Harry gave him a hard look.

“But if he’s saying no so that ultimately I don’t get hurt, is he really that horrid?"

There was a pause as Ron thought about Harry's point, shrugging carelessly after a while.

“I don’t know, Harry. Suppose he is looking out for you and he actually cares, if that's even possible for him. Do you mind the mess that'll go with it?” Ron asked wearily.

Harry glanced around the room nervously.

“I care what you and your family think. Hermione doesn’t mind, I think she kind of likes him to be honest, but if Molly and them can’t do it then I don’t know. It'll be tough. I've never felt like this before.”

Ron gave his friend a heavy look, shuffling his feet under the chair as he leaned forward.

“Hermione told you about Zabini, right?” he asked, Harry glancing over in surprise.

He’d forgotten about Blaise Zabini. Merlin, if he ever met the bloke he’d have to buy him a pint.

“Yeah, she said he’s your new training partner.”

Ron nodded, seeming pretty calm about it all. “He’s a good chap. We go to the pub on Sundays.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t thought they got along that well.

Ron smiled, nodding at the Hospital Wing around them. “He says Malfoy is alright once you get past all the posturing. I didn’t care much for it, but he claims Malfoy is doing alright down in Hogsmeade. After hearing from you and Hermione about how harmless he is, I think I could eventually give him a chance. Eventually.” Ron looked to Harry in sympathy. “But I honestly dunno how Mum and them would feel about it."

Harry nodded slowly. He’d figured that was the case. He looked back to Ron quickly, reaching out and shoving his knee.

“Thanks, this was really stressing me out.”

Ron scoffed. “We’ve dealt with his shit since first year. Just cause you want to fuck him now doesn’t really change much, Harry.”  


Harry grinned.

“I really do,” he beamed.

Ron made a face, leaning back in the chair.

“What was the thing about his neck, then?” he asked weakly, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

“Er, apparently, I like biting. But Malfoy doesn’t have a wand anymore, so we think he hasn’t been able to heal it that well.” He scratched his neck absentmindedly, shrugging.

Ron nodded slowly, looking uneasy after all the intimate details they’d been discussing. They didn't talk about deeply personal stuff these days, Hermione was more up for those kinds of talks. What with school and Auror training, they hadn't had much of a chance to catch up since August. A lot had changed.

Then Hermione came around the corner with a less-than-pleased Madam Pomfrey.

“What’s this I hear about Mr. Malfoy having a neck injury?”

Harry hesitated, still rubbing his jaw and feeling the scrape of stubble.

“Yeah, he’s got quite a big mark on his neck,” he confirmed, glancing at Hermione. She still looked far too smug about the whole thing. “He hasn’t got a wand though, so I think he might be trying to use muggle methods to heal it.” Harry waved a hand in the direction Malfoy had fled.

After seeing the first aid kit in the back workroom of Malfoy's shop- or glancing at it briefly before Draco had kicked him out- Harry figured he’d been using muggle tech as a substitute for his lack of magic. His wound was probably fine, but since Malfoy had been nearby, it couldn't hurt for Pomfrey to check it out.

But Madam Pomfrey did not look pleased with the knowledge of Draco using muggle methods. Harry heard her cast a vicious-sounding Patronus after him, the three of them watching her storm back to her office in exasperation.

Harry paused, glancing at Hermione.

“Does this mean he’s coming back?” he asked, cautiously hopeful.

Hermione hesitated, looking towards the doors from behind the privacy screen.

“Perhaps, if he doesn’t want to deal with her wrath. Don’t worry, we’ll clear out,” she replied, waving to Ron. “Come on, we still have a few hours before you need to get back and Hagrid will be upset if you don't say hello.”

“Alright, bye Harry! Good luck shagging Malfoy.” Ron clapped Harry on the arm before standing to join her, waving over his shoulder as they walked off.

Harry smiled as his friends left, grateful he'd had a chance to speak with Ron, but also relieved that his friends had cleared out in case Draco returned.

Once the heavy silence of the Hospital Wing sunk back in, Harry finally had a moment alone.

The first thing he needed to do was get a look at those splinter scars Pomfrey had mentioned. 

He slouched back onto the pillows and tented his knees, lifting the sheet to discover his lower body tightly wrapped up in bandages. How she’d managed the mess of wrappings he would never know, but there must be a spell for it. Harry thought he looked like a tissue paper mummy on Halloween. Or maybe the stripper version, since it was only his waist that was wrapped up.

He carefully peeled back some of the bandages from his inner thigh, trying to get a look for any of the marks. Luckily he didn’t feel any pain, so his cock and balls should be alright, otherwise the cups they wore during Quidditch would be completely pointless. But they seemed fine for now. With that concern out of mind, Harry went back to looking for the lesions and scars.

It was quite difficult to inspect under the sheet and bandages, especially with the dim lighting of the Hospital Wing, but he could see what Madam Pomfrey had meant.

The splinter scars between his legs were quite savage compared to what used to be unblemished skin. There were thick white lines of scar tissue slashed in random patterns all over his thighs. Harry was tremendously relieved that he'd been asleep while they healed, he didn't want to think about how much blood he probably lost.

But they would take some getting used to. He didn’t particularly grieve over having the scars, they were just an addition to the collection he'd acquired over the last few years of the war. At least these had a funny story to go along with them to share with a future bed partner. Maybe _funny_ wasn’t the right word, but to Harry, they were, at least in comparison to his more traumatic scars.

A polite cough roused him from the investigation of his crotch, startling him.

Malfoy was standing in the aisle at the end of his bed, staring at him with raised eyebrows.

It was a pretentious and unimpressed look, one that always showed up whenever Malfoy was appalled with him. Harry was getting intimately familiar with that one.

He quickly dropped the sheet and give Malfoy an awkward grin, as if he hadn’t just been confirming his balls were still there.

Draco checked for Madam Pomfrey before looking back to Harry in mild curiosity.

“Everything still intact, I take it?”

The tiniest hint concern from Malfoy was enough to encourage Harry, causing him to leer at Malfoy's question.

“Dunno, how ‘bout you come check for me?” Harry asked a bit cockily, spreading his legs under the sheets.

Draco gave him a dry smirk, marginally impressed at Harry's gall.

“I think I’m alright.” He nodded towards Pomfrey’s office, his eyebrows mocking. “But I can call Madam Pomfrey if you need some assistance?”

Harry tensed, lips quirked at the threat and unsure if he meant it. He leaned back on his arms, arching his back teasingly to show off his chest. When Malfoy’s eyes followed the movement Harry knew he had his attention.

“You wouldn’t. I just need you,” Harry dared, teasing him.

But when Draco rolled his eyes and began to walk off, Harry realized his flaunting had failed.

“No, no. Malfoy come back- Draco!” Harry cried in a shrieky tone as he snapped his legs shut, trying to recover from displaying himself for Malfoy while being confined to a hospital bed. Of course that didn't fucking work, what made him think it would?

And Harry couldn't even ignore how wonderful Malfoy’s mocking laugh sounded as he walked away.

He just dropped back down into the pillows and rubbed over his face with his hands, smiling weakly his pathetic attempt at flirting.

Not long after Malfoy left, Madam Pomfrey rounded the privacy sheet.

“Mr. Malfoy says you’re experiencing some discomfort in your genitals.” The tone she used was nightmarish.

Harry’s mouth hung open in horror, shaking his head while yanking the bed sheets up to his chin.

“No, no! He’s just being _funny_ ,” he hissed, noticing Malfoy grinning from behind her. Even when he was mocking him, Draco was fucking beautiful.

Then Harry remembered Malfoy’s neck, the reason he’d been called back to the Hospital Wing, jerking up to point behind her.

“He’s got a neck injury though!” he called victoriously, Malfoy’s jaw dropping at the betrayal.

Then she reared on Malfoy, her posture menacing as she turned her back to Harry. Draco recovered quickly, pointing right back at Harry.

“He’s the one who did it to me!”

She threw up her hands, shoving Malfoy behind the privacy screen.

“Sit down! I don’t care who started it or what odd things you two are up to in your free time,” she scolded, Malfoy frowning pitifully while he sat down in the chair he’d occupied earlier.

She summoned a healing salve and clean bandages, requesting Draco remove his shirt so she could assess the injury. He glanced nervously towards Harry after a moment, which Harry didn’t really understand. They’d already seen each other naked before.

Harry shoved his pillows up, leaning back on them while he watched, interested in the proceedings.

But when Malfoy pulled off his shirt, Harry understood why he hesitated. It wasn’t just the big bandage on his neck that made him hesitate- it was the webbing of scars.

Upon seeing them, Harry immediately realised Malfoy hadn’t actually taken off his shirt when they’d been together in the shop. It was probably the only article of clothing that had managed to stay on, actually.

Harry could only stare at the _sectumsempra_ scars in growing shame, his stomach churning. He’d done that.

Draco, meanwhile, was choosing to politely ignore him during the process, tilting his head away as Pomfrey peeled off the muggle plaster on his neck.

“What atrocious inventions. Who puts stickies on people and claims that they’ll heal you?” she muttered, Malfoy sighing heavily in agreement.

“It was the best I could find, my apologies.”

As Pomfrey peeled the plaster off Malfoy's neck, Harry leaned forward to try and get a better look at the more recent of the damage he’d caused.

The redness had calmed a bit, but a sickly yellow bruising now surrounded the area. The red scabs looked fresh and were distinctly caused by teeth. Their clean lines were unmistakable. Any excuse would fall on deaf ears if Draco bothered to deny it.

Harry could only stare with wide eyes, astonished with himself. He never thought he'd have the ability to cause such intimate damage.  


Pomfrey didn’t seem as impressed though, giving Harry a stern look.

“If this is your way of showing affection, at least heal it afterwards,” she scolded, Harry jerking at the accusation.

“Madam Pomfrey, I tried! He wouldn’t let me,” he denied defensively, but Malfoy reared on him with an glare that threatened any kind of forgiveness if Harry carried on with that sentence.

Harry submitted to the threat, having no intent on causing a real fight and dropping back onto the bed while she muttered about the uselessness of her students.

After a few moments of quick healing, the cuts and bruising neatly sealed, a clean white scar in the intricate pattern of a set of teeth replacing it. Pomfrey patted Malfoy's skin with a swab of dittany, shaking her head.

“Unfortunately, it’ll scar. If you came to see me right away it probably would have been fine, but it’s been a few days too long, dear,” she cooed, Draco nodding resolutely as he pulled his shirt back on.

“Quite alright. Not the first time he’s scarred me,” he muttered irritably, Harry feeling his hackles raise.

If Malfoy ever showed any sign of being civil enough with him to have a conversation, they would need to talk about that.

She wrapped up her kit as Malfoy started to look like he was ready to run again.

“Draco, can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry asked loudly.

He couldn’t say no and run if there was a witness, it would only encourage the mentality that they still didn't get along.

Draco stilled, knowing with Pomfrey close enough that he couldn’t deny the request. He glanced at her within earshot, sitting back down and nodding cautiously at Harry's request.

Pomfrey carried on with her business, not concerned with whatever kind of estranged relationship they had going on. She went around the partition, stopping to look back to Harry.

"Mister Potter, you are cleared to leave if you feel up to it. Just keep my advice in mind about not overexerting yourself," she advised, glancing at Malfoy firmly as if he were going to somehow effect Potter's healing regimen.

Malfoy scowled at her accusing glare after she left, leaving the two of them alone for the first time in weeks.

Malfoy moved his chair a tad closer now that there was no one around, still well out of arms reach and probably for good reason. He could have just stood to leave, so the fact that he stayed and hadn't lie about agreeing to talk to Harry meant something. 

But Harry didn’t want to be lying down for this so, carefully, he sat up and slid his legs out from under the sheets to sit on the edge of the bed to face Malfoy directly. By the time he managed to settle, his muscles were aching from the stiff position change.

Harry didn’t expect Malfoy to be staring down at his crotch when he sat up, but he probably should have. He immediately pulled the sheet over his revealingly tight bandages to try and keep the conversation on track.

Malfoy raised his eyes to Harry’s once his line of sight was interrupted, unaffected but for his blown-out irises.

“Okay. We need to talk,” Harry started, gripping the edge of the cot.

Malfoy lifted his chin a fraction, listening. But Harry still hesitated in his proclamations, trying to remember how open and real Draco had been when they were together. This was just a protective façade he put up. It was a defense mechanism. He just had to get him to open up somehow.

“After she visited your shop, Hermione told me the real reason you rejected me.”

Draco reeled, his posture crumpling into shame rather than pride. His trademark scowl was back as he leaned away from Harry, no longer looking at him with stubborn determination and choosing to avoid all eye contact instead.

“I appreciate how you’re worried for my welfare, but it’s my call to make for if I care about what people think,” Harry started, knowing if he stopped every time Malfoy caused a fuss, then nothing would be accomplished. “I don’t care what they think and I never did.”

Harry chose to stare at the floor rather than watch Malfoy, hands ringing anxiously between his knees. His heart was beating so hard that it almost hurt.

“I care about what Hermione and Ron think because they’re my family. Hermione think’s you’re alright and Ron said he could work on it. I don’t know if the Weasleys will ever get used to the idea of you, but I’m willing to take that risk. Your Mum is alright from what I've heard of her from Andromeda. And Teddy would probably love to have you in his life. He has so little family left that when he finally starts to grow, I want him to know we’re all there for him. You included, especially since you're cousins. And I really don’t care about the job thing being in jeopardy because of you or the howlers, I’ve already had that kind of bollocks from the public before. I've had that kind of attention my whole life. It’s not an issue for me if we-”

“Are you asking me to marry you, Potter?” Draco drawled, interrupting him. Harry looked up at him, startled.

Malfoy was leaning back in the chair with a relaxed posture, sincere towards Harry’s confession with amusement singeing his edges. It made Harry’s heart ache to see him like this.

“No, God, I’m not, Malfoy.” He spit out a laugh, shaking his head and pushing some hair back.

Draco tilted his head, genuinely curious. “Then why the big declarations?”

Harry gave him an annoyed look.

“Because you didn’t give me the chance before you bloody kicked me out! I would have just said the same shit then. You kicked me out because you were trying to spare me from all the hate you deal with every day, but if you’d just given me the chance then I would have chosen to save you from it instead.”

The resounding silence was terrifying and it brought up sour memories of when Malfoy had told him to get out his shop. He looked up from his hands to the other man.

Draco was staring at him with a frail look, the definition of shattered on his expression.

“Are you going to chase after me?”

Harry had to lean forward to hear the whispered question. “Sorry?”

The blond shifted in his chair, awkward now that he had been given the chance to speak.

“Are you only going to send a bloody letter next time?” Draco asked more clearly, trying not to appear vulnerable when he very obviously was.

Harry immediately shook his head.

“No, because you didn’t like the one I sent, did you?” he asked cautiously, knowing if he said the wrong thing, Malfoy would leave.  


He didn’t see him vulnerable very often, so now was not the time to muck everything up and say the wrong thing.

Malfoy gave him a look of irritation, looking out towards the windows.

“My boss hung it up on the wall. Said it was a glowing review of our shop from 'The Great Harry Potter',” he relayed, disgust dripping from his tone.

Harry covered his face with his hands, sighing in irritation.

“No, I just wanted to see if you were mad at me. Merlin, these people take everything the wrong way.”

He heard Draco chuckle, which was a good sign. Harry had a feeling he understood what he was getting at, scooting further off the edge of the bed so he could try to get closer to him, resisting the urge to reach out for him.

Malfoy glanced down at Harry’s legs at the movement, the bandages peeking out from under the sheet Harry held over his lap.

“I won’t send you a letter next time, I’ll come in person. I won’t leave until I can make you smile at least once, and not just because I’m being an idiot,” he said honestly, Draco looking him in the eye approvingly.

“You’ll chase after me?” he asked more confidently this time.

It was an odd statement, but Harry got what he meant.

“You can insult me as much as you want, and I might be a bit offended sometimes because you can get quite creative, but I’ll still be there. I’ll come after you.”

Malfoy nodded in approval, visibly relieved that he was understood.

Malfoy had made a career of pushing people away. If Harry was going to stick around he would have to convince him that he wasn't going anywhere just because of a few snide comments. Because he wasn’t. The comments were comical most of the time anyway. Now that he’d seen who Draco really was, he had no intention of letting go.

There was a heavy silence as they sat on their admissions, no longer full of agitation and anger. Draco was just watching Harry, then he pursed his lips.

“You realise what we’re talking about is far more than a one off?”

“Yeah, but I almost lost my balls for you.” Harry motioned to the blanket covering his lap, shrugging nonchalantly.

Draco smiled slowly, eyes on the indicated lap. “How noble of you.”

Harry grinned back, rubbing his hands together at the next topic. This was going surprisingly well.

“So, when people come after me with the newspapers, because they will,” Harry said, approaching the topic a little more carefully, “and when they ask me if I’m single or seeing a secret witch, and I tell them no-” He gave Draco a heavy look.

The other man gave him a tense look back. Harry glanced at Draco’s hands, which were clinging tightly to the bottom of his shirt.

“-No, I’m not dating a witch. In fact, the wizard I’m seeing is devastating and he makes my knees weak. That I would like nothing more than to wake up to him every day until he wants nothing to do with me. And that they can get fucked for all I care. What would you say to that?”

Draco was staring at him, eyes wide and vaguely terrified.

“You said you weren’t asking me to marry you,” he whispered in a high-pitched tone.

Harry grinned. “I’m not. That doesn’t mean I won't at some point though.”

“How about we have dinner first.” Draco had a nervous smile on. He didn’t seem scared or overly intimidated, though, which was a good sign.

Harry sat up at the promise of dinner, nodding contentedly.

“But if I did that with the papers, how would you feel?” he asked more seriously, needing definite clarification on the topic. Draco hesitated before he found his words. He looked fearful at the possibility of newspapers chasing after Harry like that.

“You can. But I would appreciate it if you waited a few months before declaring to the world that your fucking a former Death Eater.”

“What if I told them he was fucking me?”

Draco snorted hysterically, quickly covering his mouth to hide it. Harry was newly determined to have him to laugh without covering it up.

“Potter, please.”

“Alright, I’ll wait to come out about it. But if they ask about you directly, I’m going to be honest.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” Malfoy had a charmed look on, arms folded across his chest and looking the most relaxed Harry had ever seen him. Even post-orgasm, he hadn't been this calm.

Harry rubbed at his neck, remembering the indents of Draco’s scars on him.

“You know, I wasn’t the only one to do damage.” Harry waved a pointed finger at his neck, Malfoy glancing at the motion and arching a brow.

“May I see?” He feigned interest, sitting up.

Harry nodded, remaining on the edge of the cot while Malfoy approached him.

The blond stepped up close, Harry leaning back unexpectedly when Draco straddled one of his thighs. The sudden closeness was overwhelming and Harry felt very hot, glancing up in surprise as Draco moved so confidently around him, arms curling around Harry's head to look at his neck.

The position was shockingly intimate compared to when they'd just been discussing their potential relationship issues. It took everything in Harry to stay still and not press his face to Draco’s stomach, no matter how good he smelt. Instead, Harry carefully rested his forehead on Draco's chest, breathing in the scent of leather polish and expensive cologne that always followed Malfoy around, trying to focus on the gentle touch of fingertips at his back.

He felt the bandages on his neck being tugged aside, the touches soft and curious.

“I noticed these when you were asleep last night,” Draco spoke over him, Harry glancing up with hazy eyes. He propped his chin on Draco's stomach, feeling heavy and relaxed.

“You had all the chances in the world to heal them with magic, but they still scarred over. How odd.”

Draco was looking Harry as if accusing him of doing it intentionally, but not in anger or judgement. He seemed fairly amused. But Harry was absolutely guilty of the implied accusation. 

“I like them. I wanted them to scar,” Harry admitted shamelessly.

Draco hummed in response, spreading his hands over Harry’s broad shoulders appreciatively. Harry watched grey eyes slide over him, once again distracted by Harry's bare torso. He pushed his hands down Harry’s back and kneaded at the cords of muscle between his shoulder blades. He probably would have been rougher, but since his skin was newly healed from the back injury, Draco was delicate in his groping.

Harry sighed weakly as Malfoy pawed at him, perfectly content to let him do whatever he wanted right then. But when he felt Malfoy’s body move away, he opened his eyes in confusion.

Though, Harry hadn’t been expecting Draco to mount him.

He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and came face to face with him, legs spread wide over his lap as he knelt on the edge of the mattress. Harry’s hands went around Malfoy’s back for leverage, feet planted firmly on the ground so they didn’t fall.

Draco seemed rather impressed with himself, leaning over Harry while tauntingly leaving a space between them.

“I like my mark too,” he whispered against Harry’s lips, foreheads barely pressed together.

Malfoy’s silver hair hung down from his angled position above him, tickling at Harry’s cheeks. That was a soft sensation he hadn’t felt before, both endearing and slightly annoying.

Harry sighed internally, trying to stay on task but overwhelmingly relieved at Draco's positive attitude. Harry had been so frightened of how badly this all could have gone. Having Malfoy over him and touching him and teasing him, it was very difficult to believe this was real.

“Not that I want to scar you more than I already have, but I think I could get really into that biting thing,” Harry admitted, overwhelmed with the lapful of Malfoy after several days of fantasizing and depressingly jerking off alone. Draco didn't need to know about that though, but the painfully bandaged up cock he sat on top of knew it well.

Draco, whether he felt it or not, merely grinned and decided that was enough talk. 

Harry limply dropped backwards onto the bed when Malfoy kissed him, his freshly healed body finally giving out under all the strain. But Harry groaned into it, pushing his hands up the back of Draco’s shirt and reveling in being able to touch his bare skin. No goddamn apron was in the way this time.

Harry clung to Draco’s waist like a vice grip as he pressed down on him, long fingers tangled in Harry's hair as they tried to press as tightly together as they could, shakily grinding against each other for friction. It had been a long time coming, and Harry gladly let Draco take control. But the bandages wrapped around Harry's waist were not holding up against the friction of Malfoy’s jeans.

“No strenuous activity for three days!”

They couldn’t see her, but just hearing Pomfrey’s voice was enough to instantly deflate them.

Draco pushed off Harry, face flushed and lips swollen as he glanced around in panic. After confirming she wasn't within sight, he rolled off Harry onto the mattress beside him and huffed in loudly at their bad luck.

Harry sat up stiffly after collecting his bearings, glaring down at the shredded bandages attempting to hold together his swollen cock. He summoned the pants Hermione had brought for him earlier, shakily standing on uneven legs to pull them on before anything had the chance to fall out.

Draco cheerfully watched, not bothering to hide his searching gaze before the pants were pulled up. He quickly rolled over and grabbed the back of his thighs, giving Harry quite a fright.

Harry froze, not quite sure what was happening as he felt hands spreading over the backs of his legs, almost as if were searching for something. His first thought was maybe Malfoy was looking for his cock, but they never wandered higher than mid-thigh.

“Is this what you were looking at when I interrupted you?” Malfoy asked from behind him, Harry twisting around to see.

After shifting around at Draco’s instruction, Harry saw what he'd mean. A shockingly large scar ripped down the back of his left thigh and went up between his legs.

“Yeah, they’re all over my thighs apparently,” he answered, stepping away from Malfoy’s hands to search for his trousers.

Malfoy remained on the bed, choosing to watch rather than help.

“Bludger hit the middle of my broom, so that was the impact zone. It's better than hitting my prick right on, though,” Harry explained, sounding far more amused at the irony then upset about his injuries.

“Definitely not the preferred sort of wood penetration,” Malfoy murmured, his chin propped up on his hand while he watched Harry pull on his trousers. “They’re pretty shocking. Gave me a bit of a scare,” Draco shyly added, eyes on Harry’s waist as he covered up all his scars with denim. Malfoy moved his eyes to Harry’s face, brushing some silver hair from his cheek.

“We’ll have to investigate how widespread the damage is, at some point.”

Harry grinned. “I actually would appreciate that, euphemisms aside. I honestly don’t know how bad it all is.”  


He unfolded a black polo-shirt from the pile, not quite sure if it even belonged to him. After pulling it on, Harry confirmed that it did not and it was absolutely a size too small.

“God, you’re just vulgar. How could you purchase a shirt that tight?” Malfoy complained loudly from the bed, and Harry watched him flop onto the mattress in scandalous offense.

He wasn’t sure if it was a compliment, but he rolled his shoulders to try to stretch the fabric out, wincing when he felt a sharp pain go through his back.

“I think it’s Ron’s, actually. But I don't have anything else right now so I can’t be bothered, everything hurts too much to complain about clothes.” He carried on, flexing his fingers and knowing his body entire would be aching in protest by the time he went to bed. 

The only reason he felt mostly fine was the painkillers Pomfrey had slipped into his potions. No single body was meant to heal that quickly overnight. His bones might have repaired, and his muscles stitched together, but it didn’t mean his body wouldn’t be screaming in protest for a long time in whiplash of the effects. He just had to deal with an overall stiffness and delicate nature until the pain set in that night.

Draco sat up at the comment of being in pain.

“Do I have to carry your hulking body all the way up to Gryffindor tower? I honestly don’t know if I’m capable.” He stood from the bed, approaching Harry to look him over with a critical eye.

“If you just stare at me all the time, then you definitely aren’t,” Harry mocked back, Draco giving him that unimpressed look again. Malfoy glanced to the small pile of Potter’s belongings, noticing the familiar ratty trainers under the table.

“Ah, your trainers,” he nudged Harry to sit on the bed, reaching down for the atrocities and placing them in front of Harry's feet.

“Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to get on my knees for you. But not if it’s for those.” He waved at them, barely tolerating his shitty trainers’ very existence. Harry only smiled at the comment, pulling them on and choosing to leave the rest of his belongings. The house elves would collect the rest of his belongings later that night.

Harry was just basking in how open Draco had been about getting on his knees for him, not caring about the other comments concerning his trainers. There was no shame or embarrassment in sight on Draco's expression. Given, they were by themselves at the moment, but it was a start.

This was why he’d been so worked up over them.

Draco reached out his hands to help Harry stand, who in turn twisted their fingers together and held on tightly before Malfoy could let go.

“Now I can do this,” he announced victoriously, Draco smiling slimly in vague amusement.

“If you insist,” he sighed, walking away and tugging Harry along like it was a chore.

The contentment of holding hands only lasted for a short moment, right up until they stepped off the end of the Hospital Wing’s stairs, and then it was gone.

Harry could visibly see Draco’s walls go up as a small group of students rushed towards the wing from down the corridor. They were distracted by their friend who was sicking up all over herself, but as they passed, it was an eerie reminder that they weren’t in protected isolation anymore.

When Draco dropped his hand, Harry looked at him. It wasn’t like he shoved his hand away, but he let go quick enough to hurt.

“How do we go about this?” Harry asked quietly, hands shoving into his pockets rather than hang by his side as a reminder. Draco was staring down the hall, as if to prepare for someone else to appear.

“Do you need help getting up to Gryffindor?” he asked in a strained tone, turning to Harry with an unreadable look on.  


Harry could feel his body aching from moving just fifty feet down the stairs, but he just shrugged. He didn't want to force Malfoy if he didn't want to. It stung, but he knew Malfoy would be anxious about the public eye.

“I can manage. If you come with me people might see.”

Draco glanced him up and down, pursing his lips as he took in Harry's injuries. He looked back down the corridor, grey eyes tense.

“I want to,” he forced out stubbornly. But Draco didn’t sound the least bit confidant and his answer was laced in fear.  


Harry frowned, reaching out to touch his arm.

“Malfoy, really. It's fine. Take me to the stairs then I’ll send Hermione a patronus. You don't have to come all the way.” He grasped onto the back of Draco’s shirt, tugging on it timidly. He gave Harry a weak look, leaning back into the touch.

“I wish I could,” he mumbled, the ‘but’ hanging in the air between them.

Harry nodded solemnly, knowing this was the issue Malfoy had the most problems with. It was fine. Harry didn’t think it was such a big deal, but if this was how he felt walking through only Hogwarts, then something must have happened to make him so afraid. Harry removed his hand from Malfoy’s shirt, slowly urging him to keep going and walking alongside him, not touching. To distract him, Harry changed the topic.

“So, when do I get to take you for dinner?” he asked quietly, Draco smirking beside him at the reference of their earlier conversation.

“When do they allow you off school grounds? I’m not the one who is restricted by McGonagall’s word of law.”

Fair point.

“Since we’re eighth years and legal adults, we can come and go as we please on weekends. Weekday nights I’m stuck here,” Harry clarified.

Draco frowned. “How were you able to come to my shop that afternoon?”

“During the day is fine, since almost everyone is stuck in classes anyway. We get an alarm that sets off a stinging hex if we aren’t back for dinner Monday to Friday.”

He could see Draco working out the odd schedule in his head, turning around the corner and noticing students milling about between classes. It was probably almost lunch.

Draco cleared his throat, trying to remain calm. “Bloody rude of them to make you come back for Friday night, that’s technically the weekend.”

Harry smiled, nodding. “Too right.”

“So, dinner Saturday night?”

Harry stumbled a bit in surprise, reaching out for the wall to catch himself and giving Malfoy a pleased look.

“This Saturday?”

Draco looked over him in concern but still nodded, aware of Harry’s delicate state.

“Yes, I was thinking some take away at my flat? There’s a Thai place on High Street that’s quite good,” Draco offered, sounding more nervous once he offered specific details. It was incredibly endearing.

Harry heard someone calling his name, causing him to look away. Some Gryffindor fifth years had spotted him down the corridor.

“Take away at your flat on Saturday,” Harry repeated, Draco nodding and glancing at the approaching Gryffindors anxiously. They were about to lose all sense of privacy for plan making.

“I'd really like that, just let me get rid of them and we'll keep going, please don't leave.” Harry nearly begged before they were descended upon, Draco stepping out of the way when Harry was crowded against the wall by concerned lower years. Draco nodded to confirm he would wait, not quite sure if Harry had seen him, though.

It was a cacophony of questioning Harry's health, loudly complaining about Ravenclaw winning the match, and asking if he’d gotten any cool scars from the fall. A few of the girls asked if they could see the scars as well and made some lewd comments about private places. It would have been amusing if they weren't such rudely invasive questions.

Draco stood away from the small crowd, eyes following Potter in the center of it all and trying to interpret any sign of distress. But the idiot just gracefully smiled and easily deflected their questions, attempting to shoo them away without directly asking them to leave him alone. It was so odd to see Potter confident and capable of handling his fans. Draco could remember the awkward and shy boy from years ago who hated the limelight, now he handled it with perfected ease. When the Gryffindors began to part so he could walk away, one of the girls grabbed onto his arm.

Draco immediately scowled, watching her paw at Harry’s muscles just like he had not even an hour ago.

The key difference between the two was Harry pulled away from her, visibly uncomfortable with her touching him so inappropriately and trying to get away. Apparently, it hadn’t been the first time she'd done that.

“I got to go. Off to lunch, alright?” he called loudly, catching Draco’s eye and nodding down the hall. Draco moved around them, glancing to the group as they saw Potter motion to him. They all turned to look at Draco, a few of them glaring and some openly sneering at him.  


Draco ignored the looks, walking alongside Potter closely as they left the annoying fifth years.

“Always thought it was sickening how they fawned all over you,” he muttered, Harry giving him an annoyed look.

“It’s just gotten worse. Now they actually touch me,” he grumbled back, Draco snorting.

“I saw. She always do that?”

“Yeah, there’s a whole group of them. Doesn’t matter how many times I say no, apparently just because I’m fit that means they can touch me whenever they want.”

The way he said it sounded revolting. Draco looked to him, newly concerned.

“Was I ever one of them? Please be honest.”

Harry looked over to Draco sharply, surprised at the question.

“Merlin, no, Draco. I always wanted you to touch me. Even when you scared me shitless back in the shop I still wanted you.” He grinned, Draco calming inside. He timidly smiled back, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, that's a relief. I'm glad. But it's still horrid that they feel entitled enough to touch you like that, just fucking rude.”

Harry just smiled at Draco's defense for him.

As they walked down the corridors they tried to avoid some scathing looks from students who recognised Draco, whispered insults passed their way and loud accusations followed them. Harry kept getting more and more frustrated as they walked, managing to make it to the bottom of the moving staircases by the time the halls had cleared out for lunch before saying something.

“That’s what you were talking about, then,” Harry complained, visibly upset at the comments thrown at Draco. “What would have happened if I wasn’t there?”

Draco shrugged, not too bothered with the public's general distaste for him.

“I’d rather not think about it. Can you make it up alone?” he changed the topic, looking up at the stairs in familiar awe. “I still don’t think I know where Gryffindor's common room is- even after all these years.”

Harry chose not to continue with complaining about the students, glancing up at the stairs.

“Fat Lady’s portrait, four up. I can manage, it’s not that far.” He reached out and touched Draco’s wrist, squeezing gently.

After checking for witnesses, Draco gave him a small smile.

“One day, Potter.” He reached out and playfully tugged on the pocket of Harry’s trousers, starting to step away. He felt Potter tug on of his belt loops to get his attention, and Draco turned back.

“Just so you know, I really want to kiss you,” Harry growled in a low voice.

Heat flushed across his skin before Draco gave Potter a sly smile.

“Saturday, half four,” he reminded him, stealthily moving out of Potter’s grip and setting off down the corridor.

“I’ll be there!” Potter called after him down the corridor.

Draco smiled at how shameless he was. It was one of Potter's better attributes. He couldn’t deny liking the sheer balls Potter had. Half the shit in the hospital wing was a prime example of how much he liked it. To say he was nervously excited for Saturday was an understatement, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, some resolution!!


	13. Chapter 13

The day Potter had woken up in the hospital was Wednesday, which meant Draco had to wait three days until their date.

After he left Potter in the stairwell of Hogwarts, Draco had raced back to his flat to shower and change out of his two day old clothes. He still had to go to work today, whether his personal life was in upheaval or not.

Draco was torn between feeling elated and terrified about the whole situation.

Potter had definitely impressed him. His communication skills and sheer level of confidence during their conversations was rather refreshing.

But the guilt and anguish Draco had been feeling the last few weeks was only replaced by a deep anxiety about their potential future.

Draco would remember the looks he got from the students at Hogwarts for a long time. For some reason, they bothered him more than the glares he received on the street. Maybe it was because Hogwarts used to be his home and so it felt more personal. Hogsmeade was just a blanket hatred from strangers who didn't know anything about him.

But at least he wasn’t being assaulted like Potter was. That was horrific.

Draco had very little interest in announcing to the world that they were involved, but when he’d seen that Gryffindor girl fawn all over Potter, he couldn’t help but feel jealous. Draco had wanted nothing more than to rip Potter out of her claws and proclaim he was his. And he had no idea where that unhealthy urge came from.

But it made Draco rethink about hiding themselves. The downside: downright public hate and murder threats. The upside: no one would dare touch Potter anymore.

Instead, he chose not to overthink it, knowing he would just end up drowning himself in anxiety.

Potter had told him he wouldn’t abandon him any time soon. He was even willing to jeopardize his family for him. He’d mentioned bringing Andromeda and his cousin Theodore to see Draco and his mother. That meant something. He had to put faith in Potter's dedication. It was hard to trust that everything would work out, but this was one time he desperately wanted to believe that it would be alright. It was still so hard to have hope, after everything that had happened.

He tried to focus on being excited instead, standing naked in the loo early Saturday morning while he inspected his reflection.

Draco knew he wasn’t that impressive to look at; the criss-cross of scars quilting his chest was a ghastly sight. His new scar stood stark against his neck under the bathroom lights. Luckily, he was already atrociously pale, so the scars weren’t quite so dreadful. It was odd how accustomed he'd become to having his body covered in them.

Draco touched his chest for the millionth time, finding it odd how all these scars were caused by Potter in completely opposite situations.  


On one occasion, he had been very adamant about hurting him.

The other had been while trying to bring Draco to orgasm. Life was funny, sometimes.

He turned to look over his shoulder, staring down at his backside and trying to imagine what Potter would do to him this time. He was looking forward to being defiled by the Gryffindor again, but hopefully no injuries would occur that'd require medical attention. As Pomfrey had indicated, Draco clearly wasn’t capable of healing himself.

Aside from being atrociously pale with far too many scars, Draco thought he was awkwardly skinny and not much to look at. Lanky, especially compared to Potter’s hunky musculature. Draco was certainly a leaner cut. He remembered a time when he thought he was attractive, sometimes even elegant, like his mother, but the war had taken that away. Any confidence he had had in his appearance was long forgotten. He didn't have the time or money to care about his looks anymore, which made moments like these terrifying.

But Draco had picked out his outfit the night before, wanting to make a good impression while keeping in mind that leather polish stains would inevitably get all over it. He’d chosen a white v-neck and a simple black leather vest over grey slacks. His white shirt had survived without stains for this long, so he would take another chance today and tie his apron as tightly as he could.

Draco’s day went by slowly. Lisette was in the shop, so he was in the back working on orders while she managed customers. His work was still lagging because every time he heard the bell, Draco had to poke around the corner to see who had walked in. He was intimately aware that he was a bit of a mess.

Towards the late afternoon, Draco got absorbed in shaping and nailing the wooden sole of his current project, his hands aching from gripping the chisel tightly as he chipped away at the delicate pattern under the boot. Small flecks of wood chipped off in random directions as he hammered, so Draco was wearing his glasses not only to see, but also as eye protection.

He’d been hammering away at the boot so loudly that he hadn’t heard Lisette call him and he startled when she came into the back and stood over his desk.

“Your very attractive boyfriend is here,” she advised an amused tone, Draco stilling.

“He’s not my- now?” Draco glanced at the clock to confirm the time, seeing it was half four on the dot. He stared down at his boot in disappointment- only half of his intricately stenciled pattern was complete.

Lisette sighed loudly at his lack of movement, brushing wood chips from his hair.

“Apron off. Time to go.”

He did as she commanded, heart frantically pounding with the sudden awareness of Potter being around the corner.

Lisette gave him a onceover before finally approving his appearance and Draco took off his glasses before he peeked around the door.  


Potter was down by the boot displays, just like the first time he had come in searching for Quidditch boots and appeared to be perfectly content waiting for Draco as he looked over their products.

After taking a moment to gather his nerve, Draco cautiously approached him. When Potter looked up, his face splitting into a brilliant grin as he turned away from the displays.

“You always work in outfits like that?”

Draco huffed, glancing down at his outfit. He wanted to mock Potter’s own clothing choices, but the stupid fucker looked positively edible in dark wash jeans and a burgundy Henley. There were even a few buttons tastefully undone- just enough to show off his collar bones.  


“Contrary to our mishap with it, I do wear an apron for a reason. Not all my belongings get ruined, if I’m lucky.” He glanced at his stained hands in mild embarrassment, but Potter grasped onto them so he’d look back up.

“I like it, it means you take pride in your work. I'll take it that's Madam Sterling, then?” He stepped closer to place a hand on Draco’s waist, looking pointedly over his shoulder. Draco turned and looked behind him, trying not to be overwhelmed with how easily Potter had just held his hand in public, and noticed Lisette watching them in rapt interest from behind the counter.

“That’s her,” he sighed, smiling in embarrassment at her watchful gaze. She’d see right through him if he ever denied Potter being his boyfriend after this.

“Does she know who I am?” Potter whispered. Draco hesitated as he looked at the notorious letter on the wall behind the counter.

It was a valid question. Did she even know what Harry Potter looked like? She’d been on the continent during the war.

“I honestly don’t know, but let’s not find out.” He nudged at Potter’s abs, making a noise of exasperation at how firm they were under his hands. Potter only grinned, tugging him towards the shop’s door.

Once they stepped outside, Draco hesitated, feeling Potter’s hand still clasped in his but no longer feeling as excited as he had moments ago. There were far too many people mulling about in the street for him to be comfortable and he instinctively pulled Potter closer to him when he froze just outside the doorway of the shop. The fresh taste of fear obliterated all of his excitement.

Potter could clearly tell he was anxious and let go of his hand. Draco glanced down at the loss of warmth before looking back up at the people around them. A few strangers had already noticed them standing together, pausing in their daily commute to stare. They’d only walked out of the store a few seconds ago, what could those people possibly want?

“There’s no way to do this without anyone seeing, is there?” Draco whispered in realisation.

Once she recognised them, an older woman across the street turned to face them with a scowl, as if she was deciding whether or not to approach.

The responding silence only confirmed Draco’s fears. He turned his head back to Potter, only to see him glaring right back at the woman in their defence. Draco felt a flush of pleasure at the small manoeuver. Feeling a bit better, he bumped Potter’s hip with his own to get him to move.

“Come on, I want Pad Thai.”

It distracted him enough to break the defensive stance, moving around to Malfoy’s other side to stand between him and the rest of the public as they walked. It was a small gesture, but Draco noticed it.

“The looks at Hogwarts were worse, if I’m honest,” Draco said quietly, Potter bumping his shoulder gently.

“Kids are worse than adults sometimes. How was work?”

After a moment of thinking about the question, Draco frowned.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever asked how my day at work was,” he replied honestly. Potter gave him a preposterous look in response.

“Really? How is that possible?”

Draco shrugged, putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“I live alone. The only person aside from Lisette who I speak to regularly is a drunk bloke across the street and then occasionally my mother. The old bloke only cares about dragons, and Mother still refuses to believe that I’m working at all. ‘Isn’t fit for a Malfoy to work in anything other than government’, according to her.”

Potter nodded after a moment, seeing what he meant. “Well, I’ll be the first. How was your day at work?” he asked again, this time with purpose.

Draco smiled shyly. “It was fine. I haven’t been able to get much work the last few days, been a bit distracted.”

“Oddly, I have been too. I wonder why.”

“Well, I had a Gryffindor ask me to marry him the other day-”

“I did not! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You practically did, and the whole thing’s been distracting me terribly. I have six orders to complete and only just managed to accomplish some wood working on the first one today.”

“Would that be why you have wood chips in your hair?”

Draco lifted a hand to run his fingers through his bangs, feeling the small chips catch on his fingertips.

“Lisette tried to get them before I came out,” he sighed, glancing down the street while he picked the pieces out of his hair. “Down that way.” Draco nodded across the street, still leafing through his hair. Potter glanced around for anyone before turning down the road.

“I’m glad you had a good day at work.” Potter said sincerely, lifting a hand to gently pick a small leftover splinter from his hair. Draco smiled, brushing his hair behind his ear once he was satisfied.

“How’s classes? Did you re-break any bones? Any _strenuous activities_?” He glanced over Potter’s body as they walked, originally in concern, but then in admiration. The Gryffindor just shook his head, smiling at Draco’s leering.

“Classes are fine. In regards to healing, sleeping is the worst. My potions wear off by the time I wake up so it’s always uncomfortable. It’s not as painful as it used to be, though. The first night was agonizing, I never knew bodies could hate healing so much. And Hermione is pleased for us, by the way. Ron not so much, but again, he said he’ll try to work on it,” he explained briefly as they approached the Thai restaurant. 

Draco lead the way inside, nodding thoughtfully to Potter’s updates on his injuries and friends.

He walked up to the counter and smiled politely, the woman behind the counter smiling back in familiarity.

“Combo number 9?” she asked. He was a regular.

Draco smirked, glancing over his shoulder at Potter. “What would you like?”

Potter was staring up at the display board, looking lost. “The same, I guess. There’s so much to choose from.”

Draco turned to the witch behind the counter and nodded. “Two, please.” He fished out some Galleons and felt Potter nudge him aside.  


“Here, let me.”

Draco huffed. “No, I insist.”

“Draco-”

“Potter, you can pay next time. Kindly fuck off.” He pushed him back hard with his shoulder, stepping in front of him to hand over the Galleons to the witch.

She watched in awkward amusement, not totally sure what she was witnessing.

He took his pocket change and receipt from her after a moment, then nudged Potter behind him, moving to sit on the bench by the wall for takeaway orders. Potter followed with a small smile, merely amused at the exchange rather than disgruntled.

“Does that mean there will be a next time?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Not if you’re constantly bringing it up.”

“Well, you didn’t explicitly say no when I asked you to marry me.”

“Merlin, you have balls.”

Potter laughed, sitting next to him and stretching out his legs in front of him. Draco glanced at the way his jeans strained against the movement, looking towards the counter instead.

“This means I get to see your flat?”

Draco nodded, folding his arms and thinking back to how he’d frantically cleaned the place top to bottom last night.

“Yes, the first person again.”

Potter nodded, cupping his hands in his lap.

“Probably will be a long list of firsts,” he whispered, Draco glancing to him privately.

“Definitely. You’ve already taken a few of mine,” he whispered, thinking back to their near-shag in the shop.

Potter turned to him, like he was invested enough in this conversation that he couldn’t carry on with quiet side comments.

“It's the same for me, you know that?” He gave Draco a heavy look, who found himself surprised at the honesty.

For some reason, he hadn’t thought about if Potter also lacked experience like himself. He’d just assumed Potter had done all of this already. He shrugged, looking over the artful stubble shading Potter’s jaw.

“I did not know that, no. Assumed you already knew what you were doing, what with the Weaselette and all that,” he murmured and Potter cringed at the mention of her.

“No, that- It was all a mess. We thought we could have a proper relationship after the war and it was just immediately apparent that we couldn’t. And the sex was just… awkward? Many attempts and none of them really successful,” he muttered, shaking his head. “She just expected me to know everything and didn’t help when I was confused or wasn’t doing the right thing. Then it was just a lot of guilt and disappointment because of false expectations. I’m just me, but she expected me to be more because of my name. I’m honestly not outstanding at anything, I’m just- I’m just trying to get better at being normal,” he replied honestly in a quiet tone, almost like he was upset over it.

Draco nodded gently and leaned against Potter’s shoulder in solidarity. He pushed some of his hair aside, thinking about those stupid false expectations.

“Well, not to sound arrogant, but I’m confident that we’ll manage just fine. Our sex life is superb already and if we can manage to collect takeaway without killing each other, I think we can accomplish anything,” he whispered back with a haughty edge, mostly for comedic effect.

But Potter beamed at him, clearly pleased at Draco’s observation and honesty.

It was the first time Draco had admitted that they had a chance at something that he was willing to try at. He’d usually deflected or responded with sarcasm whenever Potter brought up a potential future. But after Potter's honesty about the Weaselette, he deemed it appropriate to be honest about his feelings.

Draco lifted a hand and curled his fingers in Potter’s shirt, pressing his knuckles to the male’s abs again and feeling the stiff muscle underneath. Distracted, he sighed heavily at how fit Potter was for the millionth time.

“You never did tell me how you got so muscley,” he complained, pleased with the results but baffled by how Potter could have gotten from point A to point B.

Potter hesitated before wrapping his hand around Draco’s fingers that were still clinging to his shirt.

“Er, yeah. After all the funerals and trials, I didn't really have a reason to live,” he admitted. Draco had not been expecting their conversation to go in that direction.

“At first, Hermione came in and redecorated Grimmauld Place.” He nudged Draco, who frowned.

“The Black family home? The one my mother grew up in?” he asked in surprise, Potter nodding.

“Sirius left it to me. But it was empty and really depressing after everything that had happened during the war. I kept most of the paintings, but it was like living in a tomb instead of a house. So, we redecorated.”

Draco understood that feeling. The Manor felt like a tomb as well. Unfortunately, his mother had no intention of changing it and probably never would.

“When she was tearing up all the furniture, Hermione gave a me a flyer to a muggle fitness centre down the road so I would have a reason to get out of the house, and I started going. I met a bloke named Stevie, who taught me how to work out and eat properly, and I went back every day to train with him. This was just a byproduct.” He waved a hand at himself.

Draco nodded appreciatively. “And what do you mean by ‘work out’?”

Potter smiled at Draco’s naivety.

“Lift weights, stretch in certain ways, run for long periods of time. Physical endurance. I can’t get it in much at Hogwarts because gyms don’t seem to be popular in wizarding culture, but I run around the lake in the mornings and I'm trying to find a way to strength train. I can feel myself starting to get weaker here because I’m not lifting like I can at the gym.” He put his hands on his stomach over Draco's fingers, indicating his core strength. “I don’t like not being able to exercise anymore.”

Draco hummed. He didn’t totally comprehend the need for that lifestyle, but he also could see the appeal.

“Well, if you truly enjoy it and it helps with stopping the urge to kill yourself, why not.” He supported, waving a hand. “I’m intimately familiar with that myself.”

Potter squeezed his hand. After the war, it was almost expected for everyone to feel that way.

A new customer entered the shop, her back to them as she approached the counter to order.

Potter suddenly let go of his hand and shifted away down the bench, Draco stilling at the abrupt movement. Only then had he noticed how close they'd been sitting together.

He clenched his hands in his lap, feeling cold from the loss. It was the second time Potter had let go of his hand because of Draco's fears in public. He knew Potter did it for him, but it still hurt each time. 

It made him remember how the people in the street had seen them together after walking out of the shop. And even if they weren't holding hands or touching, everyone would still know something was up.

“There’s no way to avoid it, even if we don’t do anything,” he stated, looking at Potter with a weakly after he figured it out. Potter was busy watching the new customer, who had moved to the wall adjacent to them to wait for her order. She pulled out a muggle device and began playing with it, not paying any attention to either of them.

Potter still didn’t seem comfortable with the situation, even though he was watching her to make sure.

“Probably not. You said that when we walked out of the shop too,” he whispered, giving Draco a faint look.

Potter knew this was important to him, but at the same time, Draco knew it was somewhat pointless. If they wanted to just carry on being themselves, people would see them together regardless of how they acted. Whether they were holding hands or not, just the association itself would have an impact. It was inevitable.

Draco stared at the order counter, lips pressed in a flat line. He should have anticipated this. He’d known it would happen at some point, but having it so real in front of him this soon hurt.

“Two number 9’s!”

They both stood, far less cheerful than they had been when they entered the shop.

Draco took the brown paper bag of food and carried it out of the shop after Potter. When he started down the wrong way, Draco kicked out at him.

“This way, you berk,” he corrected, Potter raising his eyebrows at him in mock offense and following in the other direction.

They wandered past High Street as Draco lead to way to his flat, feeling the eyes of passersby noticing Potter beside him.

The locals knew Draco lived in the area. Some were friendly. Some weren’t. Luckily, the ones who weren’t normally chose to ignore his existence. But having Potter with him was new.

Seeing Harry Potter following Draco Malfoy into his flat was bound to cause some sort of reaction. 

Draco had chosen this activity for their first date because it was supposed to be private. Eating out in a restaurant was obvious, eating in was private. However, he’d forgotten he lived in Hogsmeade where everyone watched each other at all hours of the day.

“Bet there will be headlines tomorrow about you following me into my flat,” Draco called over his shoulder as they went up the stairs, pausing to unlock the interior door before walking in.

“You’re probably right.”

Draco put the food down on the kitchen counter before turning back towards him, eager to see Harry’s reaction to his home.  


Potter was stood in the doorway, staring around the room in curiosity. Draco looked around himself, trying to see what the place would look like to someone new.

His kitchen was small with a simple island, his mosaic garden table sitting beside the refrigerator as an eating area. A plush, red sofa faced the clean, white fireplace with photographs sitting on the mantle. His bed was against the far wall under a set of large windows that overlooked the street, it's fluffy white duvet giving it the appealing aesthetic of comfort and safety. Carpets were scattered tastefully around the flat, as well as a painting or two hung up on the walls. A dark chest of drawers holding his clothes was pressed against the wall near the loo, his collection of muggle books atop it. Draco’s flat wasn’t huge, but it was cozy and clean and he was proud of it.

“I like it. Didn’t think it would be this homey for a Slytherin,” Potter said in surprise, moving about to look around.

“Shoes, Potter.”

At Draco's command, Potter dropped down to untie his boots, placing them by the door before carrying on. Draco smiled smugly to himself, wanting to watch Potter explore but knowing their food would soon get cold.

Potter paused by the bed in his investigating, looking over his shoulder across the room.

“What’s this?” he asked oddly, making Draco put down the cutlery he’d been collecting.

He wandered over, seeing the gold laptop Potter was pointing to.

“Oh, that’s a muggle computer. I got it in London earlier this summer, it’s quite brilliant.” He sat on the edge of his bed and lifted the screen, turning it on to show Potter, who leaned down and stared at the buttons.

“Why do you have a laptop?” he asked curiously, Malfoy watching in annoyance as Potter started to quickly type on the keyboard.

Apparently, he already knew what it was.

“For research and things. And this viewing website called Netflix. I don’t have access to Wizarding libraries anymore, so this was a necessary purchase if I didn’t want to die from pure boredom,” he described avidly, frowning when Potter pulled up a screen with thin lines crossing over it.

It wasn’t lines though, it was a list. Draco leaned in to the screen to get a closer look, not familiar with this website.

Meanwhile, Potter stood from leaning over the laptop with a victorious grin plastered on his face.

“And porn. A lot of it. That’s impressive, Malfoy.”

Draco dragged the laptop onto his knees, glaring down at it in betrayal.

“How did you do that? It’s been recording me? I thought only cameras could do that?”

Potter laughed at his confusion, dropping next to him onto the bed and shaking his head. “No, no. It's just a search history. It’s mostly used in case you forget the name of a website you want to find again.”

He watched Potter scroll through the list, his pornographic website shamefully appearing a good many times.

“Watch a lot, don’t you?”

Draco slapped the laptop shut, placing it back on the nightstand and wanting this conversation to be over.

“Pardon me for being sexually frustrated for the last few weeks,” he claimed haughtily, standing to get back to preparing their food.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

It was ghastly, how easily Potter could pull him down. He had strength Draco still didn’t expect, grabbing onto Potter’s shoulders for fear of falling as he was pulled into on top of him.

Potter just smirked up at him. “I want to finish what we started in the hospital wing.”

Draco began smile, knowing they’d eventually get to this but not expecting it to happen so quickly.

“Has it been three days? Up for some _strenuous activity_?”

“I’m always up for you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Potter,” Draco snickered, straddling Potter’s thighs more comfortably and kissing him to shut him up.  


Potter grinned into it, arms wrapping around Draco’s back to tug at his vest. He rolled his shoulders to help it be pulled off and Potter tossed the vest behind him as Draco pushed him down to the bed.

Potter gladly dropped back onto the mattress, the duvet fluffing up around his head at the sudden movement. Draco spread himself on top of him, hands weaving into Potter’s hair as he got absorbed into the kiss.

Due to his musculature, Draco felt like he could barely cover Potter with his body even if he tried. And he wasn’t as firm as Draco thought all the muscles would be; it was impressive, but there was a softness to him. After a moment of kissing and slowly shifting against one another, Draco felt hands sliding down his back to grab at his ass, his legs spreading for them.

Potter groaned at the movement, fingers gripping tight into the meat of his backside and Draco pushed back into it, leaving the kiss to mouth at Potter’s neck and jaw.

“I want you on top of me.”

“Yes, that sounds great,” Potter exclaimed breathlessly under him, hands releasing their hold to roll them over.

Malfoy rolled to the side, fingers tugging on Potter’s shirt as he moved towards the center of the mattress with Potter following him. On the way up Draco’s body, Potter stopped at his belt, pushing his shirt up to kiss and nip at his belly.

“Alright with the biting,” Draco mumbled, running his fingers through Potter’s thick black hair while he tried not to be endeared.  


Then he gasped when Potter bit at the bulge of his erection, catching him off guard. Draco curled up at the sensitivity, distracted while Potter crawled up his body to spread himself over Draco with a kiss.

He was heavy. The sheer thickness of Potter’s body was hard and cumbersome, pressing Draco into the bed like he wanted to trap him there.

It was the best.

Draco squirmed, hands clinging to Potter’s back as tried to spread his legs under the weight. He felt everything, though the rough fabric of Potter’s jeans grinding against the thin fabric of his slacks and pinching them unpleasantly. Draco reached a hand down and grabbed Potter’s belt, tugging hard to get his attention.

“Denim hurts, you shit,” he panted, feeling Potter’s warm breath of laughter against his neck.

“I take it that means you want them off?”

Draco rolled his eyes, feeling a shock of cold air seep over him as Potter pushed back to sit on his knees, taking a moment to look down at Draco.

He probably looked a right state, flushed and breathless with his shirt half up his stomach, his slacks probably tented in a horridly undignified way. But Draco dropped his arms onto the mattress above his head as he watched Potter kneel back, legs shamelessly spread around Potter’s thighs, not giving a single shit about his appearance.

“I always want them off,” Draco goaded, head tilted as his eyes followed Potter's hands.

His fingers moved swiftly over the metal buckle, eyebrow raised at him as he pulled it from the belt loops in one solid move. Draco’s eyes glanced at the flex of his biceps as he removed the belt, distracted and not knowing where to look.

Potter tossed it off the bed with a clatter, getting to his knees to unbutton his jeans.

“Oh good, I was worried you found me repulsive,” Potter shot back, pushing his denims down his thighs with a smarmy kind of confidence.

He knew he looked good. Draco was not going to deny him that.

Draco shook his head while he stared at the tight black briefs he wore underneath, once again distracted by the very thighs he’d practically been dreaming about for weeks.

“That’s definitely not a concern, please continue,” he whispered in a high tone, moving a hand to push his hair from his eyes. Potter grinned, leaving his shirt on as he turned to kick off his jeans.

Draco breathed quietly as he watched, mildly wondering if he should be doing the same and remove some clothing.

He wanted to take his shirt off, but he was hesitant. He clutched the bottom of his white shirt, watching Potter pushing up the sleeves of his Henley before climbing back onto the bed after him. Potter seemed to notice the way he was gripping his shirt, pausing as he leaned over him.

“You don’t have to,” he said with a sudden gentleness, “they’re my fault anyway.”

Draco frowned at the shame that laced his voice.

“I don’t care that you did it, really. I just- no one’s ever seen them in this sort of setting so I’m a tad nervous,” he huffed, bending his leg back to pull off his socks.

Potter pulled Draco’s other sock off while he stared down at his chest, deep in thought.

Draco looked back to the V of Potter’s thighs, glaring at how the Henley now covered Potter’s crotch.

Did all his clothes have to be so fucking artfully placed?

He lowered a hand to touch Potter’s thigh, feeling the coarseness of his leg hair and pausing when he felt a patch of skin lacking any hair.  


Draco glanced down, noticing the smattering of pale scars all over Potter's thighs.

He chose not to say anything, remembering the Quidditch accident and using his finger tips to tug the edge of his briefs for his attention instead. Potter blinked back into focus, glancing at the hand on his thigh before looking to Draco again.

“I don’t care anymore, we both have scars with bad memories. It doesn't matter anymore.” Draco said resolutely, not wanting their scars to ruin this. They were past it. “You’ll just have to give me nicer memories if you're so offended by your past fuck ups.” Then he began tugging at the bottom of his shirt, sitting up to pull it off.

He felt Potter’s hands grabbing at the shirt, tossing it off the bed behind him as Draco dropped back down and stared up at Harry defiantly.

He didn’t expect Potter to lean forward and touch him so quickly after he settled, breathing in sharply at the touch of foreign hands spreading over the scars on his chest. Potter shifted to lay between Draco’s legs as he settled in to examine the scars more closely.

Potter didn’t look as upset as he had been moments ago, instead beginning to gently catalog the sectumsempra scars with his eyes and hands.

“I didn’t know what the spell did,” he whispered, Draco feeling himself tense when Potter leaned down to kiss at his chest. Draco allowed it, lifting a hand to Potter’s hair gently. “I wish I’d never learned it.”

Potter's hands slid slowly up his chest and rubbed gentle circles into his pecs and collarbones, placing small kisses along the path they took. After a deep, soothing heat had settled in Draco's chest, Potter moved a hand to his neck, lightly touching along the edges of the scar.

“I really like this one though.”

Draco’s body was pliant under Potter’s touch after the massaging, turned his head to press his lips to Potter’s fingers.

“Shit-!” He jumped, the tender moment gone with Potter biting one of his nipples. Then he was moving up and kissing him before Draco had a chance to cuss him out.

He curled around Potter, arms sliding around his neck as the Gryffindor bared down on him and pulled at his legs. He felt hands grabbing at the fabric on his thighs, bucking into the angle of Potter's hips on his.

It was too hot. The duvet, in combination with Potter trapping him underneath, was raising the temperature obnoxiously quick.

Draco could feel himself starting to sweat as they rutted against each other, the fabric of Potter's shirt sticking to his back under Draco's hand. When Potter shifted closer to angle his hips harder, Draco seethed into the kiss.

The fabric of his boxer-briefs hid nothing. The hard line of Potter’s cock ground against him through his slacks, the thick press of his balls against Draco’s ass. It was too much but also not enough.

Draco arched against him, Potter tossing his shirt away after the heat finally overwhelmed them. He paused for a moment, leaning over Draco to catch his breath.

He was heavily breathing as he stared down at him, glasses smudged and askew. Draco smiled a bit at the sight, lifting his hand to pull the glasses off and toss them towards the nightstand.

“Forgetful,” he murmured, pushing back Potter’s hair with his free hand like he had in the hospital wing.

His heart clenched when Harry pressed his face to Draco’s palm, eyes closed and breathing steadily, just taking a moment. He really was quite endearing.

His other hand slid down Potter’s bare chest, taking a moment to himself to admire his torso once again, feeling the hills and valleys of muscle underhand. Draco moved his hand away from Potter's jaw to his neck while the other hand reached the bulge of fabric sticking up between Potter's thighs. As if signaling a shift in tone, he grabbed onto the meat of Potter’s shoulder hard, hand dragging through the fabric of his briefs. Potter dropped his hands onto the mattress for leverage, gasping harder as Draco curled his fingers around the fabric laden cock.

Potter wasn’t as long as Draco was, but he was thicker. Not to say he was short, because that just wasn’t true either. It was all very overwhelming, having Potter’s cock in his hand.

Harry dropped his face into Draco's neck, arched over him and slowly rolling his hips into Draco’s fist as he held still for him. Draco nudged his face into Potter’s hair, removing his hand from Potter’s back to try and work open his slacks.

He hadn’t expected Potter to be watching him, but once the buttons came undone there was a hand on his cock immediately, just like the last time they did this. Draco seized in surprise, not expecting him to move so quickly and thus squeezing Potter a little too hard.

“Careful,” Potter whimpered, Draco breathing loudly in his ear as he squirmed under Potter’s hand.

“I'm trying-”

"Didn't want to wear pants today, Malfoy?"

"Seemed like such a waste since you were going to rip them off anyway."

"Merlin, you're cocky."

The loud rip of fabric interrupted their bickering, Draco jerking up at the sound and releasing Harry's cock. Potter’s head hit his chest as Draco shot up in search for the source of the noise.

When the feeling of fresh air on his ass hit him, he realized what just happened. His slacks had split straight down the back, and it wasn’t an accident if Potter’s shaking shoulders were any indication.

“Fucking Hell, Potter! I didn't mean rip off my clothes legitimately!”

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it,” he laughed, and Draco flinched when he felt hands rub over his exposed ass cheeks, fingers sliding under the gaps of fabric and into the cleft of his ass. Draco slapped a hand on Potter’s shoulders for grip. He dropped back into the duvet again, eyes shut tight at the bizarre feeling of fingers gently rubbing his hole. It was soft but still very alien, just like it had been back at the shop. It was clear Potter was being gentle though, not pushing in and only just caressing him to familiarize Draco with the feeling.

“No. You’re the worst at repair charms, you ruined your tie in fifth year,” he tried to complain, but it just came out weak and broken.

Then he hissed when a flash of cold wetness spread from his bum straight to his cock, slacks be damned, even if they were barely holding on by a thread.

“You and your fucking wandless magic!”

“You were watching me in fifth year?” Potter shot back, removing his hand from coaxing Draco’s newly lubed up erection to reach under him. He pulled Draco’s ass up into his lap, curling his legs around him so Draco was laid out fully exposed in front of him. Potter could see and have anything he wanted, right there in his lap.

Draco shook his head, not even caring how indecent he looked at the moment.

“I will not answer that.” Draco clung to Potter’s arms weakly, swallowing hard. "Now will you stop staring and actually fuck me?” he added, a bit more vulnerable than a moment ago.

“As long as you return the favor at some point,” Potter whispered roughly, staring down at Draco while he returned to slowly wanking him through the gaps in the fabric.

Draco’s trousers were destroyed. He should probably have been embarrassed by his arse hanging out the back, but the idea of Potter being too impatient to take them off was worth it. Draco reached out for the waistband of Potter’s briefs, fingers curling around the elastic band and trying to pull them down with one hand. It didn’t work, slapping against Potter's flat stomach.

“Of course I will, now show me your cock,” he seethed in a surprisingly selfish tone.

He felt, rather than heard, Harry laugh at the demand. As commanded, he removed his hands from Draco’s ass to push the elastic of his boxer-briefs down his hips and under his balls, finally revealing his cock. Potter merely carried on, not bothered with how obscene the image was, pulling Draco’s hips closer rather than move forward. He probably could have shifted closer, but instead, he just used his new outrageous strength to move and adjust Draco’s body around him at his discretion.

With Draco positioned to his liking, Potter moved forward to press the length of his erection into the cleft of his cheeks, rolling his hips into the channel of his ass where the magically conjured lube had begun to pool.

They both shuddered at the new sensation, Draco scrabbling at his arms for another kiss. Harry pressed down harder into his body to meet the kiss, rolling his hips at a steady pace into the furrow of his ass, cock slick against his hole with each drag. The slide was just enough to tease him, the head of Potter’s erection nudging at Draco's balls each time he thrust.

There was a hand on his thigh, and then the angle changed, and the head of Potter’s cock started to catch on his rim with each thrust. Draco trembled against the new feeling and jerked against it each time before Harry finally backed off, replacing his cock with fingers.  


Draco moaned brokenly as he felt them slowly press in, just barely at first.

He’d only done this a few times to himself in the past, usually too embarrassed to carry on past tentative touches. But he was more than okay with Potter’s fingers, thick as they felt. They were careful and assured, not hesitant and scared like his own had been.

Draco yelped at the sudden flash of cold sliding through his ass, the muscles that had been clenching painfully tight around Potter’s fingers loosening up in a nearly concerning speed.

He glared at Potter, who at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry, didn’t mean for it to be that strong.” He muttered, though didn’t look very sorry when he proceeded to insert three fingers with no delay.

Draco gurgled out some gibberish at the new stretch, not regretting the spell as the pain he’d been anticipating never came, going straight through to pleasure. Potter had taken to kissing at his neck and jaw as a distraction, removing his wet fingers after riling Draco up on them and curled them around his waist, seeming pleased with his own spell work even when faced with Draco's glares.

When the head of Potter’s cock pressed against him, Draco was scared for only a brief second, even though he knew the spell had worked and he didn’t have to be afraid anymore. In a moment of sheer bravery, he pushed back onto the cock, not regretting it for a single moment when it easily slid in with no pain.

Potter groaned loud at the sudden movement- a sound he’d been clearly holding back yanked out of him. 

Draco held his breath, closing his eyes at the unfamiliar sensation of being so full, and beginning to tremble as his hands clung to the duvet. His entire world had closed in on that single point of nearly overflowing.

Potter’s hands had slid up his chest as he pressed in further, moaning deeply at the heat surrounding him. Draco grabbed his arms when he felt the press of Potter’s heavy balls against his ass, nodding mindlessly at the primal heaviness of everything on and inside of him.

“Yes, yes- move now, I’m fine-” he whined, giving him permission to continue. 

Harry let go of his chest to reach for the headboard at his word, starting to press in at a slow and tentative pace.

There was a deep pressure inside him being rubbed and coaxed in a new kind of overwhelming pleasure, slow and aching and heady. Draco felt like he was being spread open, and he was completely fine with it. The lack of pain from Potter’s spell obliterated any and all worries he’d previously been nervous about.

Instead, he attempted to hold onto Potter’s sides as he fucked deep into him, the pace beginning to get harder and faster. The smell of sweat and sex was nearly as overwhelming as the sensations.

Draco could barely feel how hard his own cock was from the pounding in his ass, but there was a familiar tension building inside him. He felt like he was drowning.

He dropped a hand and uselessly tugged at the fabric of his ruined slacks, wishing he could do wandless magic just this once to get rid of them.

Potter must have noticed, somehow, because he dropped a hand to where Draco had been tugging. A sharp sound of ripping cut through the sounds of their panting and then his zipper was split in half, leaving Draco completely exposed without any fabric attaching the pant legs together. It was probably quite a ridiculous sight.

No longer caring about his trousers, Draco looked up at Potter’s chest to watch his muscles undulate and writhe as he fucked into him, trying to match the movements with his hips but having a difficult time from the angle. He cocked his hips up a fraction, making Draco shout at a new kind of pleasure erupting from the angle he'd moved into. He heard Potter encourage him, large hands grabbing his waist and as he set on a new, slow dragging pace to find that spot again.

Draco reached back for the headboard, encouraging the new angle and dropping his head back.

He wanted to be fucked open like this every day.

There was a sharp slap to his ass, Draco’s eyes opened wide and bringing him back to the task at hand.

Then Potter jackknifed his hips into him hard, a yelp escaping his lips when Harry moved back into a gruelling pace, this time in combination with that new angle.

It was over fairly quickly after that, Draco rendered useless to the pounding in his ass and coming silently under him, hands trembling as they clung to Potter’s arms. When he came, tightening around Potter’s cock inside him, the other male stiffened at the unexpected change in pressure and tripped into his own orgasm.

“Shit,” he whispered, slowly working his hips onto his cock as Potter carefully lay down on top of him, once again pinning him to the bed.  


Once Draco stopped moving, he felt Potter mouthing at his neck contentedly. Draco only clung to him, breathing shakily as he registered the wetness spreading from between his thighs.

He felt Potter’s hand reach between them, Draco hissing in sensitivity. The hand immediately moved away.

“Okay, good. If you didn’t come from that then I don’t know what else I could have done,” Potter muttered in his ear. Draco snickered and slid his hands over his sweaty back.

“No, you were quite capable this time.”

After enjoying their position for a few minutes, listening to Potter’s breathing and exploring his glorious back muscles with his hands, Draco squirmed under Potter’s sweaty weight and squeezed his thighs around him.

“You’re heavy,” he mumbled, Potter pushing himself to the side at the first sign of discomfort.

The feeling of Potter pulling out was not something he liked. Draco made a noise of disgust at the suction, squirming out from under him to go find a cloth to clean himself. Harry kicked off his briefs, which had surprisingly remained on, dropping them off the side of the bed and settling back into the pillows. Potter ran a hand through his hair as he watched Draco try to stand, amused.

For Draco, it wasn’t an easy feat trying to stand. Draco had to grab onto the nightstand for support, his thighs shaking from strain and choosing to sit back down instead. He decided that his thighs were simply not capable of holding him up at the moment.

He weakly kicked off the tattered remains of his grey slacks, staring at down them sadly before sighing. Draco turned and crawled back onto the duvet, losing all determination to find something to clean himself with and choosing to tolerate the sticky wetness between his thighs and ass.

Potter opened his arms as he crawled over, Draco dropping into them and rubbing a hand on the jutting hip bone of Potter’s waist.

“Veritable success,” he whispered, closing his eyes from exhaustion.

“Agreed. How’s your arse?”

"Spectacular. You should know.”

"Fine. But if you’re in pain later you can’t get mad at me for not asking,” Potter mumbled, Draco glancing at him with an open eye to see the big lug had already shut his eyes.

He pressed closer, seeking opportunity now that he wasn’t being watched. Draco curled himself around Potter, hand sliding up the middle of his back and resting his cheek on his shoulder. They reeked of sweat and semen but honestly, neither could be bothered.

“Hold on,” Potter mumbled, sliding his hand back down to Draco’s ass. 

He was about to protest at the groping when a flash of heat went through him. Draco shuddered, not liking the new invasive magic Potter kept doing on him. After the low burning cleared inside him, Draco figured there was probably a good reason for the uncomfortable spells after all. They certainly saved a lot of time.

“Do I want to know where you learned all these charms?” he whispered, lying lazily in Potter’s arms. He heard Potter swallow close to his ear, his skin crawling at the sound.

“Not at all what you think. After we got back from the war, Hermione gave me this book. Said ‘if I was going to have a relationship with Ginny, then I needed to know some things.” The sound of his ex’s name was chilling, and Draco resisted the urge to pull away, but was unable to stop himself from stilling.

Potter carried on, rubbing at Draco's back to soothe him.

“Anyway, I never bothered with any of the spells with her because we were already done at that point. Eventually I got bored and decided to go through the book. There was an entire section dedicated to anal sex for Wizards,” he whispered to him, sounding amused. “It was very enlightening.”

Draco nodded against his shoulder, feeling much better after hearing the second part of the story.

“And you brought that book to Hogwarts?” he asked curiously. Potter’s hand tightened on his waist, rubbing circles with his thumb.

“Yeah, I’ll bring it by next time.”

“Did you think you were going to need it this year?” Draco asked in a far more amused tone.

Potter grinned, eyes still shut and pulling him closer, dragging one of Draco's legs over his hip to rub a hand up the back of his thigh. “It got mixed in with my things. Glad it did now, though. The look on your face when I did the first one was hilarious.”

Draco scoffed, lightly smacking at Potter’s pec. “Shove an icicle up your arse and you’ll see what it’s like.”

Draco pulled his leg back, rolling over to turn away in posterity. Potter quickly grabbed his waist, rolling Draco onto his front and bearing his weight down on Draco to trap him again. This time he was pinned face down into the mattress.

“How about I shove it up yours again.”

“You’re not hard enough. I don’t care if you’re the Chosen One, you aren't that miraculous,” ge complained, feeling Potter grind his flaccid cock against him anyway. Instinctively, he pushed his ass back into it, unable to discourage him.

“Just give me ten and I’ll prove you wrong,” Potter breathed against the back of his neck, Draco arching back into the chest behind him.

“How do you think you're going to fix it, hm?” he asked, fingers reaching into the sheets tentatively when he felt Potter’s hand sliding back to his ass.

Harry didn’t respond, instead, he felt a hand moving behind him and then his soft cock being pushed into Draco with careful fingers.

Draco was still open and easy from just minutes ago, but the Gryffindor was set on getting back inside him, whether he was hard again or not.

“Oh Merlin, you’re a dirty fucker,” Draco groaned, not offended at all by the feeling of Potter being soft inside him, squirming at the new sensation.

Draco spread his legs easily, vaguely curious at this new feeling. He was still relaxed and pliable from before, even with the cleansing charm Potter had done only moments ago. It wasn’t about the motion of fucking this time, though, Potter was just set on being back inside him. It was unearthly hot on a dirty and primal level.

Draco pushed his hips back onto him to try and help, squeezing his ass around Potter’s flaccid prick.

“Fuck, Draco,” he swore, Potter slapping a hand to his waist and not anticipating him to clench around him.

“That’s right, I’m in control here.” Draco grinned wickedly.

He arched his back up into Potter’s chest, Potter running his hands down Malfoy’s torso. There wasn’t much Potter was really doing, just grinding slowly against his hips. It felt odd inside, not good or bad, just a sensation of being comfortably filled up, not stretched and hot like before. He couldn’t help but be curious about this new position, and Draco reached a hand up to touch Potter's hair behind him. He was far more coherent this time around, warm and affectionate.

“What’s it feel like?” Draco whispered over his shoulder, Potter nipping at the back of his neck possessively.

“Hot. And tight, when you squeeze,” he murmured, clearly unfocused and lost in the sensation. “Comfortable.”  


Draco wondered if he could coax Potter's erection back, knowing tightness is what he would want if he was trying to get hard again. He shifted his position a little, seeking comfort against Potter’s heavy mass.

“Pull out,” he whispered back, getting an idea.

He felt the rumble of Potter laughing against his back.

“We’re not gonna fight about that again.”

“No, you git. Trust me and pull out,” Draco huffed, Potter hesitating before complying with the demand. When he felt the slide of flesh being pulled from him Draco clenched his muscles hard. 

The sharp hiss from above him was what he'd wanted.

“Fucker.”

“Come on, again,” Draco snapped over his shoulder.

Potter was attempting to look annoyed, but it failed miserably. Fingers nudged at his rim again, coaxing his cock back in.

As he pulled out a second time, Draco clenched again. Potter seethed at the sensation of pulling against tightness. It only took a few more attempts before he could feel Potter getting hard inside him again, no longer requiring the help of fingers to push inside. Draco smiled, pressing his face into the pillow and pushing back against the workable cock.

“You're so clever,” Harry muttered, pulling Draco's hips to meet his thrusts as Potter rolled into him, Draco groaning at the stretch of his ass. “Always been clever.”

Draco just let Potter bend him over and have at it, slower this round in comparison to the first time. The drag and pull of skin was sensitive, Draco crying at the gentle motions more than he had during the rough fucking before.

It was quick, Potter coming first from the tightness that kept clenching around him and Draco soon after as Harry tugged at his half hard cock underneath them. 

They slumped together achingly slowly, Draco humming as Potter curled around him like an octopus as he pulled back out. He’d forgotten about the cleansing spell this time, which was fine with Draco; it was unnervingly shocking and would just interrupt his post-orgasm bliss. He wanted to stretch this moment out for as long as he could.

Potter’s fingers were laced through his, Draco using the Gryffindor's beefy arm as a pillow while he gazed sleepily at their hands.

“You’re not going to run away now that we’ve shagged?” Draco whispered, Potter pressing his mouth to the scar on his neck.

“Not a chance,” he murmured back, the low vibrations of his voice close to Draco’s ear. Draco nodded, pushing back into the curve Harry’s body.

“Good. You can’t judge me for my pornographic websites, though, after that stint.”

It was so easy, Draco feeling fuzzy and comfortable and sickeningly happy with Potter wrapped around him.

“There wasn't judgement,” Potter sounded far away, like he was beginning to fall asleep. “I was just trying to see if we were compatible through our porn collections.”

“Oh yes, well, I’ve never seen any videos with soft cocks before, so I don’t know where you got that idea from.”

“Now you’ve seen it for yourself. But not often, please, I’m discovering the sensitivity is just awful afterwards.”

Draco pushed his hips back to rub at his softening cock, Potter hissing against the motion and pushing Draco’s bum away.

“None of that, I need at least an hour,” Harry complained, Draco pressing back into his chest and hugging Potter's arm.  


“Fine. Are you hungry?” he asked tentatively, knowing he definitely was. Draco been hungry during work a few hours ago, so this was just prolonging his starvation.

“Yeah, could go for some.”

After a solid minute of no movement, Draco lifted their hands to bump Potter’s hip.

“I can’t walk, Harry.”

Potter woke immediately from his fog after he heard his name, squeezing Draco’s hand before climbing off the mattress to fetch their food.

It was flattering, how quickly Potter jumped up to provide for him.

Draco rolled back into the pillows, stretching out his legs from their stiffness and watching Potter move around his kitchen stark naked. Merlin, if only the Prophet knew.

He watched Potter collecting their food onto plates, seeming to already know how to use the muggle microwave, and managing to find all the utensils Draco had put out. He carried over two glasses of water, placing them on the nightstand, before pressing a horridly endearing kiss to Draco's lips as he went back for their food.

Draco just smiled to himself, carefully pushing himself up against the pillows to sit. He felt his arse ache at the motion, trying to shift off the pressure. He chose to put up with it when Potter brought over the food, handing Draco his plate before climbing back into bed.

“I like your kitchen.” Harry grabbed one of the pillows and put it in his lap to protect himself from the hot plate, something Malfoy copied after watching him.

“Thank you. It was a wreck when I first got here,” he said quietly, glancing around the room as he rolled noodles onto his fork. “If I wasn’t spending my paycheck on rent and food, the rest of it went into making it up. I’m… I’m really proud of my flat,” he said timidly but proudly, feeling Potter’s eyes on him.

“I would be too, it’s very nice. I’d look forward to coming home here after work, that's for sure,” he agreed, and Draco glanced at him dryly.

“No marriage proposals because my flat is quaint.”

“That’s not what I meant, you shit. Eat your noodles.”

Draco smirked, leaning back in the pillows and eating happily. After a few minutes of silence, he reached out for the small laptop, opening it on the bed in front of him and chewing his food as he slowly typing something out.

“What’re you doing?” Potter asked, curiously watching the screen and smiling at the way Draco typed with only his index fingers.

“Not putting on pornography, don’t get your cock up,” Draco said back, earning a snort of laughter from Gryffindor.

“Couldn’t if I tried. Really though, what are you on about?”

Draco turned the screen so they both could see, settling back into the pillows.

“I found this thing called Netflix. Chap in the store set it up for me. I'll have you know, I'm quite the muggle enthusiast now.”  


Potter grinned, pushing himself up beside Malfoy to lean against the pillows and watch with him.

“Draco Malfoy, the muggle enthusiast,” he whispered, eyes on the screen in mild interest.

Large colours exploded on the small screen with a high pitched, tinny type of music, a blue police box flying across the screen. Draco pointed at it, quite proud of himself.

“This is called Doctor Who. It’s still quite new, only started about forty years ago,” he smiled proudly at Harry, who was grinning in recognition of the show and trying not to laugh at Draco’s misunderstanding.

“No, no, Draco. Muggle television is not dated like Wizarding literature, forty years isn't considered new.”  


The show played on as they finished eating, putting their plates on the nightstand and climbing under the duvet to continue watching.  


Potter was curled around him again, hugging Draco close while they watched. As invested as Draco was in the show, he felt too warm and comfortable in the cocoon of Potter’s arms to not fall asleep. He didn’t care that he still had dried come on his thighs or in his ass, he didn’t care that he was holding Harry's hand while he fell asleep and it left him somewhat vulnerable, and he didn’t care that people had seen them go into his flat together.

He felt safe and content and loved for perhaps the first time in his adult life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOKIT THESE STEAMY BOYS


	14. Chapter 14

A loud tapping broke though the early morning silence of the flat. Harry probably could have ignored it if it wasn't for the infuriating tempo that was happening only a few feet from his head.

After several minutes of trying to pretend that it wasn't real, Harry lifted his head from his pillow to source the sound, squinting up at the huge window above the bed. After his eyes adjusted to the light, he spotted Draco's little owl on the other side of the glass. 

She was angrily pecking at the window, a rolled up newspaper tied to her leg.

“Are you shitting me,” Harry muttered, leaning up to unlatch the window.

He ignored the shift of movement beside him as he untied the roll from the owl’s leg, barely avoiding her pecking at his fingers. Thankfully, a small pot of galleons was on the sill for the morning paper and he passed that on after collecting the newspaper. Draco’s furiously tiny owl flew off with her payment and Harry managed to shut the window before he dropped back into the inviting warmth of the pillows below.

He tossed the newspaper down at the foot of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands and glancing beside him.

Draco was spread out alongside him, his back to Harry and stretched out over an impressively large portion of the bed. Hilariously, it left Harry with only a small section for himself, even though Harry was obviously the one who should be taking up more room.

He slid back under the covers to inch closer to Draco, since they were no longer being interrupted.

As with every morning, it was a struggle for Harry to ignore the bone-deep ache that wracked his body. It was an ugly pain he’d had to adjust to over the last few mornings due to his Quidditch accident. Though, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first night after the hospital wing, which had been so painful he'd nearly been sick. Fortunately, it only reared its head in the mornings now, solely because the potions had already worn off in the early hours of the morning before he woke up.

But waking to stiff, aching bones was the last thing he wanted right then. Harry was desperate to enjoy this. He didn’t want a stupid hospital visit ruining his morning with Draco, especially after their night had turned out better than he could have ever hoped for.  


He shifted forward to wrap his free arm around Draco’s waist, who made a sound of vague recognition when Harry dragged him back into him. Draco curled into the space under Harry’s arm, turning to face him while his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

Harry wouldn't have guessed that Draco would've appreciated cuddling. Though, he knew if he ever said the word ‘cuddle’ aloud then Malfoy would be out from under him in a split second. So, Harry hugged him under the blankets, enjoying the feeling of having someone next to him while laying on a comfortable pillow-top mattress with an obnoxious amount of pillows. In comparison to his own single bunk in Gryffindor tower, Draco's bed was ridiculously luxurious.

After a while of dozing, he felt Draco shift against him, the familiar line of an erection pressing against his thigh.

“You awake?”

“Your bloody owl woke me,” Harry murmured against his hair, deflecting.

Draco opened an eye to look at him, choosing not to respond and pushing further into the crook of Harry’s neck.

Harry could still feel Draco’s cock against him, but his very bone structure creaked in protest to any kind of rigorous activity. He rubbed anxiously at Draco’s lower back, hesitating before admitting his pain. He didn’t want Malfoy to think he’d caused it, but at the same time he had to be honest.

“My hip is killing me,” he whispered nervously, Draco snorting under him.

“My ass is killing me, try again.”

“No, Draco,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head against the blond’s hair, pushing some of it aside. “I meant my Quidditch injuries. My broken hip?” he whispered back, feeling Malfoy tilt his head up, suddenly awake.

“Oh. Right. You’re in pain?”

“Yeah. I think last night might have flared it up,” Harry whispered in amusement, though Draco didn’t look at all amused.  


He sat up stiffly, moving a hand to Harry’s hip and lifting the duvet to see. It looked fine on the surface, Harry knew because done the same thing the first morning. It had hurt so bad he’d needed to make sure no bones were sticking out.

“Damn,” Draco mumbled, rubbing his hip consolingly.

“In a few hours though,” Harry tried, Draco smiling faintly and shaking his head.

“I’m content with this.”

He lay back down, pulling Harry’s arm around him again. Harry stretched his hand out over the sheet under Draco’s head, feeling the cold metal of the laptop under his fingers. He glanced over Draco’s head, seeing it pushed under a pillow near the edge of the bed. One of them must have shoved it over at some point in the night.

He’d been distracted when Malfoy leaned up to kiss him, and all the morning breath in the world couldn’t have stopped him from pressing into it.

This was a different kiss from the other ones they'd shared. This wasn’t a ‘I’m going to fuck you now’ kiss, it was a ‘I want to wake up to you every morning for the rest of my goddamn life’ kiss.

It hurt in the best of ways because it meant something. This wasn’t just a one-night stand. This was a seal of dedication and affection.

At least, that’s what Harry was going to take away from it. He rubbed Draco’s side before breaking the kiss, mostly because he wasn’t able to continue on if it evolved into something more.

“Morning to you too, love.”

“You’re not allowed to call me that.”

“I’m just trying to be sweet on you. Do I have to call you ‘Malfoy’ until the end of time?”

“You called me Draco last night.”

“And you called me Harry.”

“Fuck off, I did not.”

“Absolutely did, ‘I can’t walk, Harry, you fucked me too good.’”

“I’m going to shank you, Potter.”

Harry just laughed, Draco playfully pushing away from him as Harry grabbed his wrists and pulled him back for a hard kiss, catching him off guard. It only worked for a few minutes, kissing him heatedly before Malfoy twisted out from under him and rolled off the bed. Harry couldn’t follow cause of his stiff bones, only able to watch in glee as Draco stood far too quickly and his legs gave out from under him.

“And you still can’t walk!” Harry cackled hysterically, dropping backwards into the blankets to laugh.

He caught his breath to watch Draco shakily stand, arms out for balance before cautiously approaching his chest of drawers.  


“You’re lucky I need your cock, or you’d be out after that,” Draco complained, Harry just grinning from the bed.

He watched him bend over to pull on his sleep pants, eyes admiring Draco's beautiful pale ass before it disappeared under the pajamas. Instead, the line of Draco’s erection stood out from under the thin fabric, drawing Harry's eyes. Unable to help with said erection and vaguely disappointed at the end of their nudity, Harry rolled over to look down the side of the bed.

The mess of clothes from last night was certainly impressive. But Draco’s shredded slacks took the cake. As if sensing Harry’s eyes on the former trousers, Draco wandered back to pick them up.

“Your punishment is taking these to Granger for repair. I don’t trust you to fix them yourself and I definitely do not have the money to get new ones.”

Harry frowned at the demands, nodding in defeat as Draco tossed them over the back of the couch. Then Draco crawled back onto the mattress where Harry reached up for him. He lay across his chest, pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead before noticing the newspaper that had awoken them.

He unrolled it, Harry looking up at it awkwardly from below while Draco hummed in curiosity.

“Told you we’d be in the paper.”

He folded it in half to show Harry the headline, the aggressive lettering screaming at him from the paper.

**FORMER DEATH-EATER LURES HARRY POTTER INTO DEN WITH MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE!**

“Your den? You live above a start-up ice cream parlor for fucks sake,” Harry complained harshly, immediate angered at the accusations and unfolding it to see a picture of them standing outside Malfoy’s door last night.

The ‘mysterious package’ in Draco’s arms was their takeaway. He threw the newspaper off the side of the bed, noting Draco’s silence. He looked up at him, seeing the expected shuttered expression.

“It’s pathetic and stupid, and they’ll have to get used to it,” Harry said firmly, lifting his hands into Malfoy’s hair and pushing it back from his eyes.

Draco glanced down at him in response to his touch before his expression broke into a vicious scowl.

Harry's heart thumped in brief terror.

“They absolutely are stupid, you're right. And do they not even check their grammar before printing those headlines? If they're going to call me a murderer, at least have the decency to edit their accusations,” he shot back, shaking his head and moving to sit up, not noticing Harry's momentary panic.

Harry smiled shakily as he watched him sit up, relieved at Draco’s actual response. He'd just about had a heart attack there.

“Alright then?”

Draco nodded, leaning back against his thighs and glancing towards the tossed away paper.

“Yes. I have a feeling it'll be a regular occurrence, seeing the great Harry Potter being lead into this Death Eater’s den,” he snipped sarcastically, expression full of irritation.

Harry lifted a hand and snapped the elastic band on Draco’s sleep pants, earning him a withering look.

“The great Harry Potter would like a tea or coffee."

Draco just rolled his eyes, leaning down to place a brief kiss on his lips before pulling away. Harry leaned up off the bed to press into it, attempting to make it last for as long as he could before Draco was giving him that private smile and moving away.

He watched Draco climb off the bed again, his legs far more capable at holding him up the second time. Harry carefully rolled towards the edge of the mattress, searching for his trousers. His wand was still in the back pocket, amazingly, along with the coin purse Hermione had given him.

She had made a dozen of the undetectable extension charms, this one specifically for Harry once he told her about his date on Saturday. She’d insisted he bring along overnight items even if he didn’t think they were going to be necessary. Apparently, she’d been right again. He hadn’t wanted to hope for an overnight stay in fear that it wouldn’t happen. Harry definitely knew they were going to fuck, but he wasn’t sure if Draco would kick him out after or or let him stay.

Thankfully, he didn’t kick Harry out and instead they fell asleep watching Netflix. He felt like a muggle cliche.

He clicked the coin purse open, reaching in for his morning potions and a pair of sweatpants. A clean pair of clothes were in there for the walk back to Hogwarts, but comfortable lounge clothes were suggested by Hermione.

Harry slowly sat up on the edge of the bed, bones creaking in protest as he uncorked the portioned potions and downed them one after another. He tossed the bottles back into the coin purse while listening to Draco clattering around in the kitchen.

Harry waited for the soothing burn to pass over his body before he tried to stand, curling his toes to stretch the muscles in his feet.  


It wasn’t as difficult as he’d expected, using the nightstand to lean on while pulling on his grey sweatpants. They were what he wore on the way home from the gym usually, but now they were comfy pants for Sunday mornings around the common room. They hung a bit low on his hips, but they were so comfortable he didn’t particularly care if they were a bit loose.

On slow feet, Harry shuffled into the kitchen as Draco began pouring cups of coffee from a shiny black carafe. Harry went to the fridge to collect the milk, placing it on the small island before Draco glanced over to him. The blond nearly dropped his cup of coffee, catching it at the last second before staring down at Harry’s sweatpants.

“Potter, those are obscene. I’m trying to ingest something before I die from lack of fluids, so stop trying to lure me into another round,” he scolded, Harry looking down at his legs.

“What?”

“Your pajamas, Potter.”

“What about them? They’re just comfy pants, Draco.”

Malfoy was stirring milk into his coffee, shaking his head bluntly and waving a hand at his waist.

“I can see your cock in vivid detail. Please tell me you wear briefs under those when wandering around Gryffindor tower.”

Harry felt his face heat up in horrified realization.

“N-No one’s said anything before,” he choked back, watching Draco’s face split into a slow grin.

“Harry, I don’t think they would have wanted you to stop wearing them.”

He momentarily forgot his shame once hearing his name on Draco’s voice, something warm and thrilling flushing over him. He’d never getused to hearing Draco calling him by his first name.

As he went through the motion of making his coffee, Harry kept glancing down at his sweatpants and trying to remember how many times he’d gone around the common room without wearing briefs underneath.

“Are they really that bad?” he asked weakly, looking to Draco after sipping his coffee. Draco didn’t even seem to hear him though, eyes in rapt attention on Harry’s lap as he drank his coffee.

“Fuck, they _are_ ,” he groaned loudly, putting his mug down and leaning on the counter in frustration. “Merlin, I’m so daft.”

“No, just naïve,” Draco cooed, rubbing Harry’s shoulder consolingly with the back of his hand.

Harry just gave him a dry look before continuing to down his coffee.

“I’m used to them staring at me anyway. Wouldn’t have occurred to me that this was the reason.” He motioned to his waist, Draco nodding in sympathy.

“You are quite a sight for sore eyes.”

“Oh, shove it,” Harry laughed, finishing off his coffee.

Harry knew what he looked like and he loved Draco commenting on his appearance. It was far more welcome than everyone else’s unsolicited comments. It was confirmation that Draco wanted and liked him as much as Harry felt in return. He’d probably never get used to it, hearing the validation from Draco, and he never wanted him to stop. It was mind blowing that Draco liked him back at all, hearing him comfortably admitting his attraction and fondness for Harry was a dream come true, as cheesy as that was.

“How about shoving it down my throat instead?”

Harry glanced over, not fully understanding until Malfoy was dropping down to his knees in front of him.

He felt all his blood drain south, eyes wide at the sight of Malfoy suddenly on his knees. He’d seen it at the shop all those weeks ago, but he hadn’t thought he would get the privilege of witnessing it anytime soon.

Harry could only stand completely still for fear of doing something that would make him stop, carefully placing his coffee cup onto the counter behind him before he dropped it.

He watched as Malfoy pressed his hands against the grey cotton on his thighs, sliding up to encase his cock, Harry’s erection quickly swelling under the close attention and earning a smile from Draco.

The blond leaned in and pressed his mouth to the cotton fabric, Harry gripping the counter tightly as lips slid down his shaft and grazed the base near his balls. Harry gave a broken whine at the muted rubbing of Draco’s lips over the fabric, feeling fingers slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants to drag them past his thighs.

“There’s those scars.” Draco said unexpectedly, Harry opening his eyes after a delayed moment to glance down.  


Now that they were in clear light and weren’t concealed by blankets or trousers, of course Draco could see the splinter scars. They were scattered violently in random patterns starting around his hips and ranging down to to his thighs.

“Are- Do they look bad?” Harry asked weakly as Draco gently touched them, searching around Harry’s hips to see the length of the damage.

He didn’t care too much about what they looked like himself, but if they were ugly to Draco it would significantly impact his feelings. What if the new scars affected Draco's attraction to him? What if they were just a reminder of his own myriad of scars? Most of which Harry had done to him!

He knew it was a stupid thought to have after everything they’d been through, but it was still a point of insecurity.

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry’s question, getting back to business and curling his hand around Harry’s cock. His free hand massaged the outside of his thigh, as if sensing his anxiety.

“Potter, I’m not very phased by scars these days. You're still hot like the sun, don't worry.”

Draco ended the conversation there, sliding his lips over the head of Harry’s cock and firmly stopping any lasting concern about his scars.  


Harry curled over the wet heat of his mouth, hands clenched the counter’s edge painfully as he gasped through the feeling of Draco’s lips and tongue on him. Malfoy's hand moved in tandem with his mouth, clearly not giving any fucks about the vulgar sounds of swallowing around Harry’s dick.

Harry could only watch as Malfoy let his hand go, sliding around to grab Harry’s ass and shoving his lips down to the base of Harry’s cock. The unfamiliar sensation of his throat fluttering around him pulled a surprised shout from Harry. Draco swallowed around the head of his erection, the twisted constriction of his mouth yanking Harry’s orgasm out of him quite violently. He felt Malfoy’s lips hold around him like a vice grip as he came, Harry’s thighs shaking as he desperately clung to the counter.

Draco wiped his jaw after swallowing, noticing how Harry was starting to lower himself and deftly pulling up the sweatpants before Harry slid onto the floor in front of him.

Harry collapsed against the cabinet doors, breathing shakily while he stared in awe at Draco, who merely reached up for his cup of coffee and take a sip. The quick recovery Malfoy was clearly going for was ruined by his disheveled hair and the specks of come lingering around his mouth.

Harry reached up to thumb at Draco's chin, smiling gently when he leaned into the touch.

“You’re good at that.” He gulped, looking overhead for his coffee cup before realizing he’d already finished it off. Harry scrubbed at his face with his hands before looking down at Malfoy’s waist, seeing no sign of any erection for him to service back with.

“Did you not like it?” Harry asked in an exasperated tone, Draco giving him an odd look back.

“Of course I did. My other hand was down my pants, Potter.” He smirked, grinning into his coffee cup.

Harry nodded, understanding and dropping his head back on the cabinets. He weakly reached for Draco’s hand, who twined their fingers together easily while he drank the rest of his coffee. They sat on the floor of Draco’s kitchen, holding hands and talking quietly about inane topics like Harry’s classes and Draco's upcoming projects at work.

It would become a Sunday morning tradition, to sit on the kitchen floor with their coffee. Then they'd wander back to bed to read the morning paper between bouts of bickering and sex.

Harry didn’t mind spending nearly every weekend with him, actually enjoying it quite a lot, but the Daily Prophet certainly did mind. Just as they’d predicted, the harassment was vicious and cruel. A few supportive voices had made themselves known, but it wasn't common in the next few months.

On Sunday mornings when they got to hold each other and pretend like Draco's flat was all that existed in their world, who gave a flying fuck what they thought.

###### 

Harry walked out of Hogwarts as a student for the last time on June 15th the following year.

Hermione was still stuck in exams until tomorrow for her unspeakable N.E.W.T.s, but Harry was done with any and all responsibilities until Auror training in August. And now that he was done with studying, he was on a mission. 

He took the path to Hogsmeade via the same route he walked every Saturday.

Last week, he’d been mad about studying for his N.E.W.T.s- he’d even scattered books all over Draco’s flat while the blond tried to help him with his Potions. It was the one N.E.W.T. he’d been scared of, but after today, Harry felt victorious. He understood what all the questions were talking about and he even felt like he gave competent answers in response. That alone was enough for him to feel confident in his exams.

It was half three and Draco got off work at four, which gave him approximately half an hour to reach the flat and get everything ready.  


Harry steadily avoided walking past Sterling Brogan, taking the back route to Draco’s flat instead. He pulled out his keys and let himself in, locking the familiar blue door as he climbed the stairs to enter the flat, then locking the interior door behind him.

Harry glanced around, immediately noticing that the place was in a bit of a state.

After coming over nearly every night for the last two weeks to study, they hadn’t had much time to clean up. Harry had found a loophole in McGonagall’s curfew spell after classes had ended for exam season. He hadn’t slept in Gryffindor Tower since, even though most of his belongings were still in his dorm room, long forgotten.

Harry just took out his wand and flung it in a circle above his head, not having time to clean the place up up by hand today. Realistically, he only had twenty minutes left.

The flat came to life, textbooks flying to the bookshelf over the fireplace, dishes scrubbing themselves vigorously in the sink, the blankets and pillows on the floor reasserting themselves on the sofa and bed, and loose pieces of clothing dumping themselves into the hamper.  


Harry walked towards the bed, standing in front of it and pondering the state of it. He went to the chest of drawers where Draco kept all his clothes, pulling out clean bedsheets. Harry knew Draco hadn’t gotten around to this in a while. He flung the flat sheet towards the bed, whipping his wand at it and watching the odd process of the mattress managing to change its sheets all by itself. He just watched as the dirty sheets flung themselves into the hamper, reminding him of that childish awe he still felt towards magic sometimes.

Harry knelt in front of the glossed black bureau, opening the bottom drawer which contained his things.

After three months of coming by every weekend and losing several valuable articles of clothing, Draco had pulled out the bottom drawer of his bureau, dumped all his socks onto the ground, and loudly demanded Harry put his things into it.

It was touching, in his own way, since he knew Draco was probably terrified of even offering in the first place. Now Harry kept things like left over pants, cologne, plain shirts, and his grey sweatpants in there as safe keeping.

Today though, he had something else in the drawer.

Harry grinned as he pulled out the familiar leather apron, unfolding it from where he’d hidden it at the bottom of the drawer several days ago. Draco was bound to be furious when he figured out where it had gotten to, but it would be worth it.

He sat back down on the fresh bed sheets, untying his dragon hide boots and spelling them clean of mud and all the other filth that came from trekking to the castle and back every other day. Harry stood, shedding his trousers and pulling off his cardigan and T-shirt.  


Naked, Harry delicately folded them and tucked them into his drawer.

Draco’s newest crusade was getting Harry to pick his clothes up off the floor. Which, after the last few weeks of letting himself go in N.E.W.T.s prep, he completely understood why. It had gotten a bit out of hand.

He sat back down to pull his boots on, smirking to himself and feeling quite clever. Why hadn’t he done this months ago? Harry grabbed Draco’s leather apron, walking to the bathroom only to realize he had absolutely no idea how to tie it on.  


During the angry process of trying to tie it, he was reminded of fighting with the same apron back in Draco’s workroom in October.

Fuck, that felt like it’d been years ago.

He had to turn and look in the mirror, trying to see over his shoulder at how the cords were supposed to be tied. He briefly glanced over his reflection, seeing the familiar thick lines of scars strewn across his ass and thighs. They’d faded only a little over the past year, still standing stark and divergent against his tanned skin. Harry had come to terms with them. He wasn’t bothered any longer because he now saw them as a reminder of his relationship with Draco.

If he hadn’t had that accident, there would have been a frighteningly high chance of them never getting together in the first place. Draco wouldn’t have stayed in the hospital wing with him and they would never have had that relationship-defining conversation that lead to their first date.

Which meant Harry chose to think of them as happy scars.

He’d managed to tie a pathetic knot with the apron’s cords, turning to get a proper look at his reflection.

Draco looked far better in it, in his opinion. But Harry still smiled at how huge his shoulders looked simply because of how low the apron hung on his chest. Malfoy would approve.

Harry left the bathroom, using his wand to quickly dust all the surfaces in the flat while he lay on the foot of the bed. Now it was just a waiting game.

Harry watched the microwave’s clock in the kitchen nervously, and just after half past he heard the door being unlocked downstairs.

He scrambled up to his feet, standing in the center of the bed like some kind of idiot. His heart began pounding because he was clad in dragonhide boots, Draco’s leather apron, and nothing else.

Once he had the door unlocked, Draco paused, probably wondering why the flat’s lights were on.

He had his green jacket on, hair loosely tied back, and he looked utterly exhausted. But once he spotted Harry on the bed in his ridiculous getup, there was an immediate transition from mild confusion to white hot fury.

“You complete fuck, that’s where my apron went!” he cried, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.

Harry gave him a cocky grin, sticking a leg out to strike a pose for him.

“But don’t I look good in it?”

Draco just pulled off his jacket in furious silence. He tossed it onto the coat hook and turned back to Harry, arms spread wide to indicate why he was pissed. His grey henley had a huge caramel coloured polish stain across his stomach, ruining what would have once been an attractive outfit.

Harry cringed, his confidence beginning to wilt.

“I’ve finished my N.E.W.T.s and understood all the Potions questions?” He tried again, watching Draco walk to the kitchen with hunched shoulders, eyebrows raised in a look that Harry knew meant that he wasn’t impressed.

And not in a comical way; it was definitely the ‘Draco’s gonna kick you out ‘cause you fucked up’ way.

“Is one of your N.E.W.T.s cleaning leather polish? We had to refill our stocks today, and since my apron went missing days ago I had to go without. How’d you figure that, Potter? Was your little stunt worth it? I’m going to have to call Granger again because of you.”

Ah, last names. Not good.

“No, there wasn’t a N.E.W.T for that. Potions maybe, but I’ll probably just make it worse. Though you already knew that...” he deflated, Draco glaring at him from behind the kitchen counter.

Harry just stayed in his idiotic position on the bed, deciding to stick it out.

“Aside from ruining my clothing, like you always do, what are you even doing here? It’s Thursday. I have dinner with my mother in thirty minutes,” Draco complained, reaching for one of the bottles of wine he kept stocked for his weekly dinners with Narcissa.

Harry hesitated, having forgotten the standing dinner date with his mother. Draco, long ago, used to go on Sundays, but since Harry started coming over during the weekends, he’d moved it to Thursdays.

“Well, I’m done my N.E.W.T.s and I’ve already gotten accepted into Auror training for August. You’re taking over Lisette’s shop while she’s scouting for a new location in Bristol. I'd say we’re both doing pretty good for ourselves, so how would you feel about finally marrying me?”

Draco snorted at him from across the room.

“Yeah, sure, _alright_. Go put your clothes back on, you’re coming to dinner now.”

Draco carried the bottle of wine to the mosaic dining table, stripping off his ruined Henley and ignoring Harry on his way to the loo. Apparently he couldn’t be bothered with Harry’s charades enough to take him seriously.

Harry frowned, watching in confusion as Draco walked past him without any other comments.

“No, wait, Draco. I’m serious. Marry me!”

“And I said yes, you fuck! Did you not hear the part about putting on your clothes?” Draco called back, sounding like he was mocking him.  


Harry scowled harder, not quite sure what he was doing wrong.

He jumped down off the bed with a thud, watching Draco primp in the vanity mirror from the doorway. He’d pulled his hair out of the tie and was running a comb through it, silver blonde hair curtaining his shoulders. The old scar on his shoulder shone under the lights as he pulled his hair to one side.

“Look, I’m serious. I got you a ring and everything.” Harry tried again, this time pleading for Draco’s attention. He pulled out the box from the apron, opening it to show Draco in the reflection.

Harry nervously watched his grey eyes glanced to it, only to roll in irritation again.

“I know. I found it in your trousers last week after you fell asleep studying. Now I'm serious, go get changed. We have to leave for dinner.”  


Harry stood dumbly in the door as Draco stepped past him, his world feeling like it had been thrown upside down.

“Are you actually naked? I thought you had pants on under that.”

Harry turned on his heel, hysterical.

“Yes, I’m naked- what do you mean you found it last week?!” Harry cried, Draco giving him a daft look over his shoulder.  


Then he sighed heavily in disappointment, walking to the fireplace and not bothering to respond to Harry’s outcry.

Draco was naked from the waste up, his hair hanging around his shoulders and his scars completely exposed. The large tattoo which covered his dark mark stood bright against the canvas of his arm, the deep greens and blues of peacock feathers one of Harry’s favorite additions to Draco’s evolving appearance. But right now, Harry was too fretful about their situation to admire him.

Who was he fire-calling dressed like that at a time like this?

In his hysterics, all Harry could think about was how jealous he was that someone else would get to see Draco in such a state of undress.

“Draco, Darling, are you leaving soon?”

Harry tripped backwards into the toilet at the sound of Narcissa’s voice, nearly slipping on the bath mat in his haste to escape.

The last thing in the world he would have wanted was for Draco’s mother to see him dressed like this.

They were on solid, yet delicate, terms. Harry had brought her flowers every time he went to dinner or lunch and they had bonded over photos of Teddy together. He didn’t want to ruin the fragile bond he’d been cultivating by accidentally showing her his naked arse.

“Sorry, Mother. I’ll just be about forty minutes more. Harry’s decided to join us tonight.”

“He doesn’t have class today?”

“No. It's was his last day for N.E.W.T.s so there’s cause of celebration.”

“How wonderful, I’ll break out some of your father’s whisky. Harry will like that.”

“Yes, I’m sure he will. We’ll see you soon, then?”

“Absolutely. Ta, darling.”

Harry waited for a solid minute in tense silence before carefully peeking around the doorway towards the fireplace.

Draco was stood in front of it, shoulders locked and glaring towards Harry with a scathing fury. That was an expression that only came out whenever Harry’d royally fucked up.

He could only watch in terror as Draco moved towards him, approaching him as if stalking prey instead of his partner. Harry bumped into the door frame as he tried to back away, eyes wide in dread.

“Where’s the ring?”

Draco stood in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and staring at him expectantly. After several months of dating, Harry was 98% sure Draco had learned that exact glare from Snape.

Harry fished the ring box out of the apron, shakily holding it out for him to inspect.

Draco looked down at the box with a blank expression, carefully taking the box from Harry. He stared down at the ring for a few terrifying moments, then Harry watched him pull it out of the box to place it on his finger.

He held out his hand to the side, fingers splayed so they could both see it. The ring was champagne gold with a single diamond placed within the metal. It wasn’t too feminine or outrageously loud, subtle yet quite valuable. Like Draco. The color of the metal matched the aurelian details of his tattoo, a minute detail Harry had been horridly insecure about when he picked it out.

Personally, Harry thought it looked perfect. It was everything he’d wanted it to be.

“I didn’t get a good look at it last week,” Draco whispered, pulling his hand comically close to his face since he didn't have his glasses on.

He seemed pleased with the selection though, eyes soft and no longer shaking with fury.

“You didn’t look at it when you found it?” Harry asked idiotically, forgetting he’d been in trouble not even ten minutes ago.

Draco smirked, glancing away from the ring and grabbing hold of his arm.

“I put it back because I thought you were going to ask me later that night and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Harry felt his heart drop, knowing the night he was talking about. Draco’s birthday had been last week.

“I had planned to do it that night, really, but N.E.W.T.s were still happening and we fell asleep at half eight-”

Draco tugged him harder towards the bed, giving him an amused look.

“This is better. Now when it’s my birthday, I'll still get all the presents and attention to myself without having to share it.” He sounded happy, kissing Harry sweetly once they stood by the the bed.

Harry grinned into the kiss at Draco’s daft logic, feeling a lot better about his decision now.

“How stupid of me to try and take that from you.”

“Good, you understand. Now, what else did you prepare for me?” Draco murmured against his ear, his hands sliding to the globes of Harry's ass. He shrugged back, pushing back into his hands.

“How about you see for yourself?”

“I’m not going to be looking at it, Potter. For fuck’s sake. ”

Harry grinned, turning to let Draco push his shoulders down onto the bed. He spread his arms above him, bent over the edge of the mattress and instinctively spreading his legs for him. Harry felt hands running from his shoulders to his ass, nails dragging hard into the meat of his back.

“As much as I would love to work you open right now, we are on a time limit.” He heard above him, Harry pressing his face to the sheets and quirking his wrist to wandlessly cast the spell.

A familiar cold flushed through his system, skin crawling at the sudden relaxation of his insides. The immediate fingers to Harry’s hole were welcome against the spell’s chilling side-effects, needily arching his hips into Draco’s fingers. After careful fingering, he felt Draco’s thighs press behind him, not wasting any time.

The clinking of metal as Draco undid his belt was loud and foreboding, Harry feeling hypersensitive in his excitement and restraining himself from rocking his hips against the mattress under him. The thighs were back, this time with the line of Draco’s naked cock pressing against his ass so teasingly.

“I love seeing you like this,”

Harry felt hands on his shoulders blades, nails digging into the muscle on his sides.

“No, you just love me.” He shot back easily, intimately familiar with this banter as he tightened his fingers into the sheets and tried to push back against Draco's shaft.

“You always have to get so sappy.”

“You love sappy, and you’re the one who always starts it.”

The feeling of being slammed into shocked Harry into silence, sobbing brokenly as he tried to push back to meet his thrusts. Now that the pretense was done there was nothing to stop them, the sound of weak groans and the wet slapping were the only sounds Harry could hear, his face buried into the duvet under him.

After a few minutes of Harry shakily falling apart under him, Draco had the gall to start talking.

“So where’s your ring?”

Harry attempted to lift his head, vaguely wondering why Malfoy was trying to converse at a time like this.

“I don’t get one, only you do,” he groaned, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

Draco tightened his grip on his hips, thrusting for a higher angle.

“How dare you. I will not be the only one wearing a ring,” he seethed, Harry gasping at the sharp pricks of nails scratching into his skin.

“Okay, okay, I’ll wear a ring. I just have to find one,” he garbled back, his brain having a difficult time functioning at the moment due to his current state of being fucked within an inch of his life.

Knowing Draco wanted him to wear a ring was actually a huge relief. Harry had been quite distraught when the people at the jewelry store told him it was only customary for the recipient to wear a ring. Harry had even asked if that was customary if his partner was a man, and the older woman just seemed to stick her heels in even further about the topic. Only one of them was supposed to wear a ring.

It was definitely a sore spot for Harry, he’d wanted to let the world know he was taken just as much as Draco did.

“I might have a substitute ring,”

Harry could hear the words above him, but Draco didn’t sound too proper. At least the git was falling apart too during this.

“You got me a ring?” Harry’s hands reaching back to touch his arm as Draco spread his ass cheeks wide, grinding in as deep as he could get.

“No, I didn’t. But I have a s-spare, it’s at my Mother’s house.” Draco’s voice was breaking on every other word, Harry groaning as his own erection, which was trapped against the leather apron, began to leak pathetically at the friction.

“It’s at your mother’s?”

“Yes, my father’s ring. We managed to get it back he was taken away.”

Harry, once realizing that he would be wearing Lucius Malfoy’s wedding ring, tried to paw his way across the duvet.

“No, I take it back. I don’t want to get married, please don’t make me wear your father’s ring,” he whined, alarmed at the thought of wearing Malfoy Senior’s jewelry.

“Too late, I already said yes to your shitty proposal. You have to wear it.”

Harry moaned at the new pace Draco suddenly set, a hand pushing down between his shoulders and pinning him to the bed. The sound of their fucking was loud and vulgar, Harry bowing and just spreading his legs further for him, keening into the mattress as he felt the slow build up forming inside him. As soon as Draco’s hand reached under his body to grab his cock he was done, Harry curling into the duvet and cursing loudly as he ground back onto Draco’s cock to milk his orgasm further.

He barely noticed when Draco lay across his back, breathing heavily into Harry's ear as his hair tickled across Harry’s shoulders. Harry shifted contentedly back into his body, Draco hissing in sensitivity and pushing away from him.

“None of that right now.”

He carefully pulled out while Harry remained on the bed, dazed as Draco went in search for a towel. When Harry finally had the energy to move he first cringed, the cold layer of come coating the inside of Draco’s apron smearing all over his stomach. When Draco returned with a wet towel and started wiping down Harry’s back he rolled over, looking up at him and watching Malfoy flip the apron away.

The look of disgust once seeing come coating the inside of his apron was hilarious, Harry snickering and immediately banishing the mess away. Draco easily untied the apron, grabbing his hands to pull him up off the bed.

After managing to stand up, Harry was surprised by the sudden hug Draco pulled him into. He smiled, wrapping his arms around his waist and feeling Draco press into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you.”

“Merlin, you’re always so awkward.” Harry whispered, endeared.

“Do you have to? I’m trying to be thoughtful.”

“I’m very proud. You’ll make a wonderful husband.”

“Don’t patronize me, of course I will. We still have to tell my mother, though. In approximately eight minutes.”

Harry shuddered, forgetting that was part of this whole ordeal. He pinched Draco’s side, nudging for him to move so he could change.

He was stopped when Draco grabbed his hand again and pulled Harry into a kiss, this time letting himself sink into it. He pushed back the hair from Draco’s face, cupping his jaw and giving him a heavy look.

“If we can get takeaway, we can tell your mother,” he whispered, a phase that had come up anytime they’d been anxious about their future, whether it was the public’s outcry against their relationship or the tense beginning when Harry had started to bring Draco to family gatherings.

Draco nodded, showing him that small smile that belonged only to Harry.

“Yes, but can we tell my father is the real question,” he teased, Harry groaning loudly.

“If I have to wear his fucking ring I’m not going to be the one telling him.”

“Fine, fine, come on. Let’s find you something to wear. I don’t think my mother would appreciate seeing you in your naked glory _nearly_ as much as I do.” He tugged Harry towards the bureau, grinning at the image of Harry naked except for his boots.

“Merlin, don’t even joke about that. It’s bad enough her friends have started sending me post asking for photos.”

“Those photos are mine, I’ll commit murder before any old biddies get their hands on them.”

Harry just laughed, pulling his clothes out of the bottom drawer and glancing back up to Draco as he searched for his own clothes, the new ring glinting against the black gloss of the wood. Harry knew it would be perfect on him. Even when he'd walked into that jewelry store six months ago, he knew in his gut that Draco would always be utterly perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, all done!! Man what a journey. Was my first multiple chapter fic so I hope folks fell in love with these two as much as I did (´ ▽ ` )ﾉ 
> 
> I'm over on [Tumblr](https://featherflairs.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to join me in screaming about handsome boys and writing✿


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